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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28890990">We Won't Feel Like This Forever</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bounteous/pseuds/Bounteous'>Bounteous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Banana Fish (Anime &amp; Manga)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Ash Lynx Loves Okumura Eiji, Blood and Injury, Bulimia, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Cuddling &amp; Snuggling, Depression, Dissociation, Domestic Fluff, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Language, Family Bonding, First Kiss, Fist Fights, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Marijuana, Mild Sexual Content, Okumura Eiji Loves Ash Lynx, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Violent Thoughts, Vomiting</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 09:07:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>22,218</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28890990</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bounteous/pseuds/Bounteous</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>'Beneath his dangling feet, the drop is far and the ground is hard, cracked concrete. The worn soles of his Chuck Taylor’s would provide little relief. The laces would snap at his ankles in the wind and the red would be but a blur in motion.'</p><p>'It’s okay, though, really. Nobody needs to know him well, anymore. There’s nothing spectacular to offer. It’s better this way. Better for people to not know him and leave him be than know him and hate him.'</p><p>'It’s as if the world is holding its breath, preparing for the creation of their future relationship. Like this moment, depending upon Ash’s decision, is a precipice. A catalyst. The tipping point for all change to occur.<br/>Ash feels it in his gut. His heart. He wonders if Eiji does, too.'<br/>~~~<br/>They meet and suddenly the world feels a whole lot different.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ash Lynx &amp; Okumura Eiji, Ash Lynx &amp; Shorter Wong, Ash Lynx/Okumura Eiji, Max Lobo &amp; Ash Lynx, Max Lobo/Jessica Randy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>67</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>145</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Updates are whenever a finish a chapter because I am a mess</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The city smells of vices. Of smog. Of curling cigarette smoke and the heady scent of sex. Of drugs and drug money. All of it tickles the tip of Ash Lynx’s nose. He sneers in disgust and familiarity. The smells are a coat he wears, a coat he cannot remove. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighs, and for a brief moment, the exhale renders all smells inutile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beneath his dangling feet, the drop is far and the ground is hard, cracked concrete. The worn soles of his Chuck Taylor’s would provide little relief. The laces would snap at his ankles in the wind and the red would be but a blur in motion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thoughts are loud in the quiet, but not the loudest he’s ever thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Life appears to be at a standstill when he’s here. Or maybe it’s the other way around. The world playing around him, fast-forward and forward still. He is the one on pause. If only he could rewind, as well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wind whips at his cheeks, tousling blond into tangles, and he shivers. It’s not too cold, but he raises the red of his hood anyway and curls the jean jacket together around himself. He always feels cold. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gold reflects in jade when he raises his head to the sky. He should head home soon, they worry enough as is. He doesn’t mind the grounding, but he’s not worth troubling themselves over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He is inconsequential. He wants to be, anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Long time no see, Lynx.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash sighs, irritated and existentially exhausted. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Arthur, you relentless bastard. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>They were loud, shoes scuffing against the concrete as they’d climbed the stairs two at a time. The door to the roof automatically locks, so Ash leaves it propped open with a half-smashed cinder block. Their zippers clinked against the metal in their zeal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Three types of breathing—steady, labored, and asthmatic. Not like Arthur has a great selection, to begin with, but he chooses the worst lackeys. Though, Ash supposes it doesn’t matter when they’ve got him cornered three-to-one. He isn’t getting out of this unscathed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You see me every day at school, Arthur,” Ash says, shoving his hands into his pockets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turns just enough to plant one foot back on solid ground, his expression as bored as he can make it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scrappy kids, those two. One large enough to land some serious blows and the other looks crazy enough to die laughing. They’re going to beat him black and blue, but Ash can make damn sure he isn’t going down without a fight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They whip out switchblades; sharp, fresh, and hungry. Ash eyes the scars circling Arthur’s fingers and smirks just the tiniest bit. He’ll forever have that on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not very fair of you guys,” he mocks, standing now. “What if I didn’t have my own?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From inside his shoe, he pulls out the same blade he’s carried since he was thirteen. He takes his stance, ready.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur smiles, teeth like fangs, saying, “You always have it. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping you wouldn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he strikes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His blows are hard and angry. Skilled, too, now that he can no longer pull a trigger. Ash hates to admit, but it’s difficult keeping defense up on both the left and right. Arthur is the main objective, but he can’t forget about the other two. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s already at the edge, but he thinks he can push the asthmatic one back with enough force. Arthur can recruit all he wants, but their fears don’t just disappear. He doesn’t get the chance when Arthur slices across his arm, shocking Ash for a second long enough for him to get another cut in across his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash drops his knife, watches it clatter to the ground. He sends a kick toward Arthur, feeling the jolt as his heel makes contact with his chin, and lunges for the metal. Arms encircle him, trapping him, and a foot lands harshly on his outstretched hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks up, despising the way Arthur towers over him as if he’s God. He’s so fucking smug about it, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me just repay your kindness,” he taunts, rearing back and kicking Ash so hard blood flies from his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash falls heavily to the ground, spitting globs of red onto the rock. He already knows what’s coming, so he covers his head and raises his legs as scuffed sneakers rain down upon him. And when they finish, they stand over him, all haggard and torn and beat-up, triumphantly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash can’t hear the mocking words Arthur is speaking. He only focuses on reaching as far as he can until—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur screams at the feeling of his Achilles tendon being sliced in half.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He falls, held only by lackey numbers one and two on either side. They drag him back even as Arthur scrambles to escape their grip. Maybe they’re not as dumb as Ash first assumed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You son-of-a-bitch!” he shouts, fury blazing in his eyes. “If only I could kill you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash frowns as he’s dragged away, taking the steps one hobble at a time. What was that supposed to mean? His shouts echo throughout the empty parking garage, an awful symphony full of curses and fractures. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Above him, the stars shine in a purple radiance and the last of the sunset is falling behind the sprawling buildings of New York. And here he lays, utterly exhausted and feeling like absolute shit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Part of him wishes he could simply lay here forever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he stands, groaning in pain and irritation, and trudges home.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Dinner is taking place when he stumbles through the front door. It smells like home and grilled chicken. Sounds like laughter and conversation he’s not a part of. Looks like a life he could’ve lived a long time ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ash? You better have a good explanation for being late!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max’s stern posture instantly deflates at the sight of Ash dripping blood onto the doormat. Ash cringes under the scrutiny of his gaze and the worry swirling within it. The barriers go up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell happened to you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jessica rounds the corner at those words, gasping once she sees him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing,” he answers, taking a step and trying his best not to grimace too noticeably.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hates this. Hates worrying them. Hates them worrying over him. Hates the attention and hates himself for constantly taking it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jessica speaks, moving to take initiative as always, “We should take you to the hospital or, at the very least, let me look at you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash puts out a hand, unable to look either of them in the eye. “I’m fine, I promise. I’ll clean myself up and be on time for school tomorrow.” He takes one step down into the basement. “And don’t save me a plate, I’m not hungry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rushes as fast as he can down the stairs without further hurting himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a lock on his door and they have a key, but they’ve never invaded his privacy before. Ash appreciates that, even if he sometimes thinks they probably should. His room is small with a spotted carpet of curious stains and a connected bathroom. Realistically, he wouldn’t ever have to leave. If only it didn’t suffocate him to no end. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sits on the toilet, struggling to remove his clothes with every wave of pain it causes. His pale torso is littered with bruises, though he’s aware they’ll look worse come tomorrow. And his face looks like shit with a black eye in the process of swelling and his chin a pretty purple. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max and Jessica must have felt their hearts stop seeing the dried tracks of blood trailing from his mouth. He should just sneak in through his window next time and risk getting grounded. Save them the trouble of wondering why he shows up looking like shit all the time. Save them the trouble of trying to help a lost fucking cause. He’s not worth it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing he can do about looking ugly for a few weeks. Might be a nice change of pace. But the cuts along his arm and hand are stinging and dripping an unhealthy amount of blood. He doesn’t have much gauze left, so he places a bunch of bandaids haphazardly over the one on his hand. His arm is screaming in pain and looks worthy of stitches, but Ash just wants to sleep. He ties the white around it as tight as can be, using his bloodied teeth as leverage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the end, his sink is covered in wrappers and pink water droplets. His clothes are deposited into a bag he’ll take to the laundromat at some point. Michael is screaming about not wanting to take a bath. Ash slumps beneath his sheets, shivering and shaking. He wonders if it’s still from the cold.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~ ~ ~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>People ignore him for the most part. It’s weird. He’d had tons of friends back in Izumo. Now Eiji Okumura is a simple orb in someone’s peripheral vision. No more important than that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s okay, though, really. Nobody needs to know him well, anymore. There’s nothing spectacular to offer. It’s better this way. Better for people to not know him and leave him be than know him and hate him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fake friends would hurt too much. And Eiji is too afraid of burdening anyone. See? The pros list is already two bullets long.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s nice to walk the crowded halls from class to class and not have to stop and talk. He can move swiftly between bodies and backpacks, eavesdrop on purpose and accident, and observe contentedly. Ashly apparently slept with both the Smith twins this weekend. And Chase got arrested for underage drinking and driving. And Lance has been out all last week because he supposedly has AIDS.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s how he’s the first to notice Ash Lynx stroll into school Monday morning with a nasty black eye and purple trickling down his jaw. Eiji winces. It looks like it hurts and the small, caring part of him feels bad. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watches Ash shove people out of the way of his locker, open it up and grab a large textbook, before slamming it shut so loud the students around him stumble back. Eiji was surprised to learn Ash takes multiple AP classes despite looking like the American stereotypical delinquent. He heard he even tutors after school sometimes for cash. But he also heard he does other things for cash, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The voices around him say it was Arthur. Eiji wouldn’t be surprised. Ash and Arthur fight a lot, on school grounds and off. They’ve hated each other for as long as the two years Eiji’s lived in America. It’s weird, however, to see Ash so beat-up. And at school, for that matter. It piques his curiosity. </span>
</p><p> <span>But the scowl is still present on his pretty face, so Eiji puts the thought out of his mind. Track practice is after school and that’s all he needs to focus on. </span></p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji feels hot. Nervous. Sweating through his practice clothes. He doesn’t know why. Everything is the same as last year and the year before and the year before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vaulting is all he has. All he’s good at. All he’s bothered to invest in his entire childhood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nevermind the sport is mind-numbing and makes him steadily more depressed the more he forces himself to continue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s all he has. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His father would be so disappointed if he quit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s chilly. Enough that Eiji has compression clothes beneath his regular clothes. But perhaps it was a bad idea. His palms are so clammy they’ll probably slip from the pole before he even lifts from the ground. It wouldn’t even matter. Today means nothing. Just research. Testing out the equipment, warming up, figuring out the newbies. There’s nothing to be nervous about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s their star athlete. Why is he like this? He was photographed by a professional last year? Why is he like this? He was featured as one of Japan’s top vaulters? Why is he like this?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lines up, feeling abuzz with an energy different than normal. Eyes his coach’s assistant with her clipboard and pencil. Wonders if his marks will be higher this year. Hopes they will be. They have to be. They can’t be anything else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sky is overcast and gloomy. The grass is yellow and dead. The mats are dusty. The poles are stiff. Nothing feels right. His ears can un-hear the scratching of lead against paper after each landing. Can’t un-hear the shrill of the whistle for the next jump. They echo so loudly he thinks his eardrums might burst. His heart might burst, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When it’s his turn, Eiji’s mind goes absolutely blank. And next thing he knows, he’s curled up on the ground, holding his throbbing ankle and grimacing in a pain he hasn’t felt before. He thinks the embarrassment of his coaches and teammates leaning over him, shock and fear wrote plainly across their faces, hurts worse. So he keeps his eyes closed, letting them think the tears and the grimace are from the pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He refuses to let go as the sports physician inspects his ankle, so a stretcher is brought out and carries him in front of the entire track team to the locker rooms. Eiji has never wanted more than to be invisible right at this moment. He’s let them all down. Proved he couldn’t handle it. Proved he was not, in fact, the best as they’d all been told. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s told with a roaring in his ears that he’ll be out for the season and to schedule an appointment with his family’s doctor. The blue of the walls swirls in and out of focus.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fearful of anyone coming in, Eiji locks himself away in a bathroom stall and cries. Silently, but the tears are hot and heavy and burn trailing down his cheeks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What is he supposed to do now?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~ ~ ~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ash loves his friends, but he wouldn’t ever say that aloud. Sometimes, though, they can be really fucking annoying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like now, for example.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bones is prattling on about this and that, detailing the various ways he plans to kick Arthur’s ass, while Kong, drooling it looks like, is hanging on to his every word. And Alex, poor Alex, is attempting to interrupt and failing miserably. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash sits atop a wooden crate, rubbing his temples in an effort to cease the growing headache behind his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He has to get back at Arthur, make the asshole pay. What’s worse, he did it for absolutely no other reason than because he could. Ash doesn’t feel like being the bigger person today. In fact, he feels like punching the shit out of anyone looking at him the wrong way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, fuck, does planning an ambush hurt his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We aren’t hitting Arthur today,” Ash states, effectively stopping all conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bones pouts, Kong imitates, and Alex merely asks, “Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because I sliced the back of his heel open. He ain’t gonna be out today since he wasn’t in school. Let’s just scare a couple of his guys. Ruin what little following he has.” Ash stretches, grimacing at the pull of his bruises. “Plus, I don’t feel like it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can probably find some of ‘em at that park by that apartment complex with the shitty paint job,” Alex adds, rolling up the sleeves of his ratty jean jacket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And scare ‘em to death!” Bones looks supremely pleased with the notion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ain’t none of us got enough money to bail you outta juvie,” Ash deadpans. “No blades, either. We’ll just rough ‘em up a bit. Let ‘em crawl back to Arthur as a message.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash doesn’t even want to do that. He wants to crawl back into bed, let his wounds fester until he can’t be saved, and hopefully feel bliss after that. Life is just too exhausting. And Arthur isn’t worth his fucking time. The bastard just hates him for no reason, or one Ash can no longer remember. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But these three idiots would be lost without him. No. He’d be lost without them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stalk the streets at sundown, laughing and joking until they hit the dirt path into the park. They quiet themselves, keeping watch where they walk and where their targets are. Ash keeps his hood up, hoping there isn’t anybody else around. He’d rather not have to make a run for it this time. His body aches, but the tough-guy act is a full-time job.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beneath his feet are remnants of cigarette butts and spit tobacco. Tell-tale signs they’re nearing their men. Alex whistles, nods his head to the right. Through the trees, in a clearing, they sit atop some rocks, passing the last bottle of beer back and forth. Others are spilled and empty around them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just two of them. And drunk. Perfect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re Arthur’s guys, right?” Ash taunts, strolling forward in nonchalance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He catches them off-guard, their laughter halting at Ash’s words. They meet eyes, thoughts coinciding for once, before turning towards him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what if we are?” One of them asks, brows furrowed and hackles raised. His cheeks are flushed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that’d be in my favor since I wanna talk to him. But he’s not taking visitors right now, is he?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stand, defensive now. Wary. Knowing the circumstance and the outcome. They could make a run for it, but that’s always worse. Humiliating, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The fuck do you want, Lynx?” The other asks, eyes narrowing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re scared. He can see it. Even sporting a shiner from their boss the day prior, they’re still scared shitless of him. They fucking better be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Some fucking peace and quiet, thanks for asking.” Ash turns to Bones, watching him hop from foot to foot. “Bones? Would you like to do the honors?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bones cocks his arms back and lands a nice, fat punch to the cheek of one as soon as the words leave Ash’s mouth. Clearly, he was too fucking excited. But at least he’s having fun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rustling in the distance snaps all six of them out of their rage-fueled arguing. Crutches splayed on either side of him, Eiji Okumura stands there like a deer in headlights. Ash only knows his name because they shared P.E. together once back when Eiji first transferred. He can never forget the way the kid was bullied for his accent and horrible English. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All of that seems unimportant now that Arthur’s guys are doubly scared shitless having an unexpected witness. None of them want the police involved, but Arthur’s guys are always deep in other criminal shit. He sees the thoughts, sees their solutions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s not part of this,” Ash says, stepping between them and Eiji. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The fuck he is!” The one Bones didn’t punch says, and smashes the glass of his bottle against the rock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He makes a run for Eiji before Ash can stop him, but Eiji, without hesitation, punches the man so hard an audible crack echoes in all of their ears. Time freezes for an instant as the man goes down, blood gushing from his nostrils and down the front of his white shirt. Fuck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bones begins cackling, Kongs laughing his booming laugh, and Alex shouts, “You fucking broke his nose, holy shit!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash is surprised, to say the least. Guess Eiji Okumura can fight. He is an athlete, after all. He supposes it makes sense. But the kid always seems mousy and polite, naive even. Impressive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two idiots turn tail and run, so things ended successfully either way. But now they’re gonna be looking for Okumura, too. Shit. Once again, anyone associated with Ash Lynx is brought danger and pain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, man, thanks for that and I’m so sorry—” Ash begins, but is thoroughly cut off by Eiji’s sudden vehemence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do you fight all time? Come to school beat-up? You smart, Ash. I know you smart. So why fight?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash wasn’t expecting to be psychoanalyzed today and he doesn’t appreciate it in the least. Especially from some nobody who hasn’t even experienced half the shit he has. What right does he have to say this shit? This stupid kid holding his hand because the first punch he ever threw hurt more than he expected is telling him to do better?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash feels the anger finally spill over the edge, but he keeps his voice low and pissed. “You don’t know me. I’ve got nothing going for me at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash can’t explain the way it feels to have Eiji’s eyes bore into his. The judgment suddenly feels accurate. The sympathy suddenly wanted. The anger suddenly deserved. Like they can see right through his walls and into his soul. He feels exposed. He doesn’t like it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wrong. You just never try.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re left stunned as Eiji Okumura walks away, his crutches leaving tiny imprints in the mud and grass. Nobody has ever stood up to Ash Lynx like that. He thinks he kind of hates Eiji. And finds him horribly intriguing. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>His eyes are crusty when he wakes up, and they hurt when he rubs at the corners of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji shouldn’t have opened his eyes today.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His body feels heavy. His limbs ache and his ankle throbs in remembrance. His mattress is like a bunch of hands grabbing at him, trying to keep him leaving the comfort and torment of his blankets. He almost lets them. But his alarm is still blaring and he has to shut it off at some point. And at that point, he might as well get up entirely anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>These are the thoughts that help him through the morning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This morning is worse, though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He has to get up, but the process isn’t working and it just makes him hate himself more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There is no one else. If he fails, there is no one else. He can’t afford this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything is accompanied by a pained sigh. A sigh when he topples the alarm clock off of the nightstand on accident. A sigh when he makes his bed. A sigh when he looks at the shell in the bathroom mirror and pops the lid of his Lexapro. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a different kind of sigh, drawn-out and sad and just the tiniest bit nostalgic, when he passes by his mother’s room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Breakfast is simple and traditional, even if shopping at the Asian market is more expensive in both product and transportation. But it makes Eiji feel better, so he does it anyway. He should do more things he likes. This just happens to be convenient.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He used to make three plates, now he makes two. It might as well just be one. Way back then, he used to make none. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The second plate is for his mother, though she never eats it. He keeps trying. No one else will. She sits on her windowsill day-in and day-out, staring unseeingly into the distance. She moves sometimes. To the bathroom. To bed. She paced up and down the hall one night and scared Eiji half to death. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But she never speaks. Never acknowledges his existence. Barely even her own. Eiji trims her hair, gives her a bath, feeds her. He no longer talks to her. That got too depressing for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Today, she sits as she normally does. Her black hair is no longer sleek and shiny but tinged with grey and ratty from a restless sleep. Eiji brushes it as best he can and she gives no reaction. Then he picks an outfit she won’t wear and sets down a plate of food she won’t eat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room is dusty. It’s sad because someone barely lives in it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji kisses his mother on the forehead and leaves. Checks his sister’s room and finds it empty as usual. Locks the door and bangs his head against it in frustration because he forgot his crutches. Drives to school with an injured ankle because walking took him too long last night.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~ ~ ~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s scaring his fellow peers with the way he’s scowling today. They’re thinking </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘today’s the day he finally snaps’</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Maybe it is. Ash rarely lets his anger show on his face like this, and his face is already fucked up enough as is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If someone so much as looks at him the wrong way—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If looks could fuckin’ kill, the entire student body would be six feet under by now!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A tan, meaty arm swings around Ash’s hunched shoulders, almost knocking his bag to the floor. In his peripheral is a mop of bright fuschia and ridiculous fucking sunglasses even though they’re inside and the dumbest fucking vest he’s ever seen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Shorter, and you’d be fuckin’ first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shorter looks ridiculous one-hundred percent of the time, but his confidence and attitude make him look cooler and Ash despises him for it. He gets looks wherever he goes and he likes it. Ash can’t comprehend.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, you love me too much. You’d weep.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shorter, hanging onto Ash like he is, doesn’t even bother apologizing to the kids he runs into as they make their way down the packed hall. Uncaring and unapologetic. Ash could never. He pretends, at the very least.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash rolls his eyes. Tries to shrug him off with little effort. “I don’t weep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not even for me?” Shorter Wong cannot pout to save his goddamned life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Least of all for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m hurt.” He marches them back around to where they’d started. “Anyway, you’re pissed and I’m gonna take advantage of that. Let’s skip.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shorter likes bikes and cars, auto parts… that kind of shit. Always gushing about the latest models and which parts he’d found for cheap and which parts he’d managed to knick from the junkyards. Ash is grateful he’d sold him his old bike, otherwise he’d be stuck either walking or taking the bus. The last thing he wanted was for Max and Jessica to have to buy him a car they couldn’t afford.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Never mind he’s still paying it off, but Shorter’s a good friend like that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They race each other through the streets, getting honked at and laughing back at the drivers they’d cut off. Ash likes this feeling of flying, the wind whipping through him horizontally rather than vertically. The cut on his hand hurts with the way he’s gripping the handlebar, but it’s freeing in an odd sort of way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shorter always wins with the better bike, but Ash never cared about winning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They climb the fire escape to the roof above Chang Dai, stopping briefly by Shorter’s room so he can grab a blunt and two cans of beer. Nadia’s working and definitely knows the sounds of their bikes, but by this time the restaurant is packed and she’ll forget about them soon enough. And Charlie is always out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They do this so often, it’s become ritual. Park their bikes, sneak around back, and pretend like they’re not being loud as fuck knocking into each other and banging around the metal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash likes sitting atop high places. It brings him comfort. The view is pretty if he can manage to forget all the shit going on beneath the sprawling buildings. Sipping on a can of Coors and passing their joint back and forth, he still feels mildly pissed off. Lighter in the head thanks to some Mary-Jane, but still angry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, what’s got your panties in a twist, hm?” Shorter asks, reclining in his tattered lawn chair like it’s not just about fifty degrees and they’re outside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash almost crushes his can in hand. “Eiji fucking Okumura.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t even know you knew each other.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We didn’t. We don’t. He doesn’t know shit about me.” Shorter side-eyes him, sunglasses perched on the tip of his nose. “He punched one of Arthur’s guys last night and then had the fucking gal to scold me for fighting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shorter chuckles at that, though it turns to coughing after he inhales a rather hefty hit. “Sounds like the most badass mom I’ve ever heard of. So, what’s your problem? He told you off for fighting and now you’re throwing a tantrum about it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash chugs the rest of his beer, crushes the can in his fist, and proceeds to throw it over the edge in a fit of unprecedented rage. “No! He fucking tells me I’m smart an’ shit and says I shouldn’t be fighting like I’m capable of doing anything else. And then he fucking tells me—in his stupid fucking accent—that I don’t try. I don’t try? I don’t fucking try? I’ve been trying my entire fucking life! He doesn’t know shit about me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That kind of felt good. His chest is heaving up and down and his shoulder kind of hurts from the force of his throw and his vision is slightly blurry without his glasses and the strong-ass weed Shorter buys. But yelling was nice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I think you’re just angry because this kid who knows nothing about you is absolutely fucking right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash feels like he might throw Shorter off the edge, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re supposed to be on my side.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually, as you’re best friend, I’m supposed to tell you when you’re being stupid. And you are being stupid.” This purple-haired idiot casually sips at his drink. “Eiji Okumura is right and you should listen to him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash is astounded and irritated that Shorter is taking Eiji’s side, of all fucking things. Life has never given Ash good things. And if it did, they were always taken away. He’s learned not to try anymore. Not to get his hopes up. Things always go bad in the end. If he keeps his M.O the way it is, then nobody will be surprised. Least of all him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever, man. I don’t wanna talk about this anymore.” He slumps back into his chair, taking the offered roach and inhaling as much as he can handle before stomping it out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eiji isn’t who you think he is, man. You’re judging him just as much as you think he’s judging you. Don’t be a hypocrite.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jade eyes roll as far back as they can. “What, does he prostitute himself on the weekends? Is he some secret streetfighter just for the hell of it? Does he murder young, beautiful women just ‘cause he can’t have ‘em?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He fell the other day at track practice. Ruined his ankle. People say he’s out for the season. Maybe even for life. Our school’s lost its prized vaulter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nobody even fucking cared about pole vaulting, to begin with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyway, someone said they heard him crying in the locker rooms because of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was Monday, wasn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think so, yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Is that why he was so pissed off that day, too? Is that why he’d been detouring through the park when it was already past five? Ash was so wrapped up in Eiji’s words, he’d almost forgotten he hobbled away on old, dirty crutches. And to think, he’d been crying by himself mere hours earlier. Ash has been there before, though he’s loath to admit it. Sucks too, though. He really had been revered by the track team. His skills are pretty much what stopped the bullying two years ago. Guess they couldn’t argue if he was better than them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve never seen him hang out with anyone that wasn’t on the track team. Then again, those were only for those stupid dinners an’ shit. Does he even have any?” Ash is beginning to feel sorry for the kid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not any that I’ve seen. You were that way too, once.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash glares at Shorter. “I had my reasons.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I’m sure he does too!” He raises his hands in mock surrender. “Looks like you’re not so different after all. Nobody really knows why he moved here, but people have figured out he doesn’t have a dad and his mom’s basically a vegetable. Maybe he beat her so bad they had to flee the country.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where in the hell have you been hearin’ this shit?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gossip is a wild thing, man. I’m just tryna explain that everyone’s got shit going on in their lives, not just you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck. Ash can’t argue with that logic.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~ ~ ~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>English class is difficult when the language is not his first. And he really doesn’t care about any of these American Literature stories. He can read just fine, but the context is lost on him when another student mentions a word not meaning what the definition says it means. Or when the structure indicates the author’s symbolism. Or when the dialogue is written like how a person would speak. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>English class hurts his brain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s grateful Mr. Nobody-can-pronounce-his-last-name-so-everyone-calls-him-Blanca has since stopped calling on him for feedback. Eiji used to get so embarrassed at the snickering behind his back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His grades are not the best. All he has to show for his lousy C is a one-hundred percent in plot recall. That and he’s one of the few who bothers to turn his homework in on time, or at all. The way he’s feeling today, he might have his first missing assignment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His head is leaning over the cool wood of his desk, mind barely comprehending the stuttering reading of his classmate, when the principal's voice crackles over the intercom. An evacuation is taking place. Not a drill or a lockdown, but a whole evacuation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blanca attempts to quiet the students who have instantly begun gossiping over what could’ve happened, corralling them into a single file line and out the door to the designated spot in the gymnasium. Eiji’s mind isn’t where it’s supposed to be. He follows like he’s on autopilot when his staggering gazes catches sight of silky, smooth tresses of black sweeping past an empty corner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He steps out of line, nobody noticing his absence as he makes his way down the hall and away from the throng of students and staff alike. The buzz quiets and it feels eerie in a school hallway as empty as this. But he hears the bathroom door open and close and suddenly he thinks he knows exactly what he’s going to find. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sound of retching replaces the faint echo of conversation, bouncing off the naked walls of the mens’ bathroom. Eiji steps too far inside, his shoe tapping loudly against the stained tile. Yut-Lung’s head swivels around, his eyes narrowed in hatred and accusation despite the scene.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All Eiji can think is that his fancy clothes are gonna get dirty if he keeps kneeling over the toilet like that. Then he leaves without a word.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Walking back down the hallways, Eiji decides he no longer wants to be at school. He overhears from some security that the reason for the evacuation was because a young boy’s body had been found raped and murdered on school grounds, out near the baseball field. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji really no longer wishes to be at school. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~ ~ ~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ash gets grounded a lot for not showing up to class. He doesn’t know why Max still bothers. What’s the point of it, anyway? There isn’t some lesson to be learned here because Ash already knows he should be in class instead of getting his ass crossfaded, but his IQ makes up for the missing homework and his grades stay at perfect A’s. He thinks Max is just angry he’s a seventeen-year-old smartass who’s actually smart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But something is off with the way he’s been sent to his room today following a mediocre spaghetti dinner. Max seemed on edge, sterner than usual. Ash can read a room and person well enough. Mouthing jokingly as he does sometimes would’ve landed him a worse punishment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, he quietly heads downstairs, head spinning with questions and alarm bells. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dinner had been quiet, strained. All the conversation seemed forced. Michael had no fucking clue, blabbing on about his day playing pirates on the playground at recess and Jessica was barely paying attention. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She and Max kept giving each other looks, like Ash hadn’t been sitting right there able to discern something was up. But he didn’t say anything. Just ate the wet pasta and the hard meatballs between the cotton in his mouth. Sat in the chair, feeling his muscles tense and tense until they ached with the strain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He waits impatiently until he hears Michael screaming about not wanting to go to bed like every night. Then he sneaks back up the stairs until he’s sat atop the topmost step, back leaning against the wall to keep him hidden from view. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His ears pick up the hushed voices in the kitchen, feel the tension in the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are we gonna tell Ash?” That’s Jessica. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His throat closes and his heart stops. This is about him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do we have to tell him? He’ll find out at school anyway.” Max.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course we do! You know how he is with this kind of stuff!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, how do you expect me to casually bring up ‘oh, hey, so a young child was found raped and murdered on your school’s property’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>White. Or is it black that he sees in his vision? And has the air become thinner? Colder?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash stumbles back down the stairs in a daze. Lock himself in the bathroom because it’s the smallest room and he feels safe. Looks at himself in the mirror and sees a sad, roughed-up seven-year-old. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The mirror shatters and his fist comes away torn and bloodied and shaking.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter III</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter ended up so much shorter than intended, but it'd be too long if combined with the next chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Ash’s face is brown and yellow like a ripe banana. Like his hair when he roughs himself up a bit. The scab on his hand itches and the scab on his arm is melding into a thin strip of silvery, mismatched skin. The rest of his body doesn’t hurt as bad as it looks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He chews at a bit of jerky he’d snuck into detention, glancing at the ticking clock hands in boredom. The library is an awful place when all he’s allowed to do is sit there in silence, festering in his grumpiness and chagrin. Damn teachers knew to separate his and Shorter’s days, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Behind him, a girl smacks her gum as loudly as possible. Beside him, two boys are throwing spitballs at each other each time the teacher turns her back. Ahead of him, some girl he’s never seen before snoozes away with faint snores. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash is not a delinquent. </span>
  <em>
    <span>These </span>
  </em>
  <span>kids are delinquents.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighs in profound relief once the clock hands reach five and twelve, respectively, gathering up his shit before the teacher even dismisses them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sun is already low on the horizon when he pushes open the heavy, metal doors. The sky is a dark overcast and it feels weird hearing students and staff still milling about for the start of the Spring sports season.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The parking lot is relatively full, even as new drivers have begun peeling out of spots with a squeal and pop of smoke. Ash always parks at the back given that he isn’t technically registered to park on school grounds. They haven’t caught him yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you hear about that kid they found last week? Apparently, he was in the foster system. Ran away, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, they said his name was Skipper or something. Super kind and happy and energetic. Too bad what happened to him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The whole school had been buzzing with the reports the day after the evacuation and subsequent murder scene. Rumors spread like wildfire and Ash had sped through the halls to get to class quicker. He didn’t want to hear any of it. Because, yeah, it was too fucking bad. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ignores the two girls, marching past their place on the benches and onto the blacktop of a newly-paved parking lot. Weaving between poorly parked cars and beat-up hand-me-downs. Following the harsh yellow lines and the candy wrappers crushed under tire wheels. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks up to where his bike is parked in the same spot every single day only to find another car a few spaces to the left. The windshield has been smashed in, the hood horribly dented, and the sides scraped all to hell. From what he can see at this angle, at least. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji Okumura lays atop the dulled grey, body sinking into the cave-in on top. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash stops in his tracks, bag slung over one shoulder and hesitancy in his demeanor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your car looks like shit,” he ends up saying, albeit awkwardly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji replies, though he appears otherwise dead. “Yeah…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Arthur do this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A pause for an awkward silence to permeate their bubble of conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want a ride?” What the fuck is he doing?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji turns his head slowly, and Ash is simultaneously frightened and concerned about the familiar emptiness in his eyes. “Yeah…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash asks about his crutches. Eiji says to leave them. Asks about his car. Says to leave that, too. Suddenly, Ash wishes he owned a car instead of a shitty bike. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um,” Ash starts, scratching the back of his neck, “I don’t ride with a helmet, so...sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji’s face, a reflection of something Ash wishes he didn’t have to see, remains impassive. “Dangerous. I do not mind.” Even his voice fluctuates at a sloppy, hilly terrain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash cringes again. “And you’ll have to carry my bag since you’ll be behind me...if that’s okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can do that.” A beat. “Take me to that park. One from last week.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s an elephant somewhere beside them as they fly through the streets, weaving in and out of traffic, speeding through yellow lights. Ash can feel Eiji’s warm breath ghosting the back of his neck. It gives him more chills than the weather. And his arms tighten around his torso with every sharp turn. Ash wonders how long he could hold his breath for. With every exhale, he feels Eiji’s pulse in the way his hands grip each other like a lifeline. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Parks generally close around ten or eleven. Midnight at the latest. Nobody frequents this park after dark. Too many druggies, homeless people, kids who’ll beat the shit out of someone just for looking at them the wrong way. Ash is one of those kids. Was once all three. His knife is always tucked into his shoe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s why, when he pulls up into the square of rocks meant to symbolize parking space, the place is completely deserted. Not a single child or parent is playing and laughing on the rusty playground. Nobody is walking their dog. No friends are bumming cigarettes and sharing booze at the gazebo. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s as if the world is holding its breath, preparing for the creation of their future relationship. Like this moment, depending upon Ash’s decision, is a precipice. A catalyst. The tipping point for all change to occur. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash feels it in his gut. His heart. He wonders if Eiji does, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji steps off the bike, away from him, and the world shifts back into focus, back into present time. He tilts his head curiously, questioningly, when Ash follows suit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash merely shrugs. “I don’t want to go home, either.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He follows this limping man through grass and shrubs and trees, down an overgrown, unkempt path. There’s a chain-link fence Eiji heads toward and Ash almost doesn’t realize until he does—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stops, heels digging into the ground. Hand tightening imperceptibly around his bag’s strap. “I don’t want to go to the baseball diamond.” The words are harsh and firm. He doesn’t mean for them to be. Or maybe he does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji turns, face still a void, but Ash can see his eyes and see they’re no longer empty. He worries the same worry as everyone. The same worry as Ash, himself, earlier. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” he says, simply, “we go to tennis court.” And changes direction just like that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The temperature has dropped steadily, but Ash feels as if he can’t feel anything at all. His skin is wired, taught and tense, buzzing with an electric current. It’s not the same as a panic attack. But almost. He’s on edge, all the same. The dust and the bases and the wooden dugouts taunt him. He keeps walking, his back toward them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji opens up the gate, hardly reacting to the squealing of the rusty hinges in the quiet evening. Walks a few feet before dropping his bag and falling to the red asphalt, limbs splayed out like the Vitruvian Man. His eyes search the appearing stars for meaning, unblinking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks as dead as he did earlier. Ash can barely see his chest rising and falling beneath the sweater vest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Ash copies, his figure exactly parallel with the netting between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They lay there for hours. Ash has lost track of the time. The moon is big and bright. The stars are shining. The air is cold and he can no longer tell a difference between his face and hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash turns his head, barely makes out Eiji’s existence next to him. Barely sees the outline through the mesh separating them. Then Eiji turns his head and their eyes meet. Ash can see them clearly. Can see the whites and the striking browns and the soulless blacks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do you look dead inside?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t really expect him to answer. He just had to ask. The question was burning him from the inside out. Making him relive things he didn’t want to relive. Making him remember things he didn’t want to remember. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji doesn’t even realize he’d opened an unwanted, unloved time capsule.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do you fight? You never answer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Things are tilting in a way Ash can’t control. He never feels in control around Eiji.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I asked you first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Our answers could be same.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash has never thought about it before. Never really thought about any of it before. Pushed it all to the back of his mind so he could focus on the here and now. If he could focus on the here and now, then he could survive. Don’t think. Just do. He supposes his one skill is never having to think. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because I’d rather fight my emotions than succumb to them,” he supplies, feeling as though his answer drains everything in his body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will Eiji know what he means? He doesn’t even know what he means.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji’s answer bursts forth from the darkness like a bullet. “I no fighter. My hamartia, I guess.” He pauses. “Learned that word in Film Literature class today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you taking Film Literature?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like movies. American movies are stupid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neither could look away from the other. Ash wanted to reach out and touch him. He didn’t seem real. Corporeal, maybe. Eiji Okumura shouldn’t exist. Shouldn’t exist in the state he exists in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What a sad state these two have met in. Ash wishes he had more to offer than just himself. He feels unworthy. Not enough. Like he’d break apart in Eiji’s hands, falling between the cracks of his fingers silently screaming. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re both too broken to make much of a difference about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry about your ankle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not your fault.” Hearts beat in sync. “Sorry Arthur beat you up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Definitely not your fault.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash can’t say who began, but they’re both laughing pitiful fits of air out of their useless lungs, hands banging against the asphalt. It’s just funny. It’s not. But it is. Apologizing like it means a damn thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, Eiji’s silhouette sits up and states, “I should go home now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash doesn’t like the reluctance he hears in it.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter IV</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Don't ask me how I'm posting a chapter a day. I have no life.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Eiji can no longer compete, but he’s still a part of the team. And a pushover at the worst of times. It explains how it was so easy for his teammates to drag him to a party this Friday night in celebration of the upcoming meet. The very meet he won’t be able to compete in. The one he’d been agonizing over all year long only to have it be taken from his grasp. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t want to be here. Doesn’t want to be here with these people who aren’t his friends. But he stays. Mopes. Drinks far too much of this sketchy punch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Eiji tries hard enough, he thinks he could nod off in this corner he’s found himself in. Back to the wall, feet crossed at the ankles even though it kind of hurts because he hasn’t been using his crutch, he surveys the room and it’s nothing he could ever find himself enjoying. If he’s being honest with himself, he can’t find himself enjoying anything these days. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe he should drink more. Loosen himself up. Lose the inhibitions. Blacking out would be a great way to pass the time. But what if he’s just a sad drunk? Then everyone will pity him and he’ll go to school Monday morning getting laughed at and weird looks and he won’t even know why because he can’t remember Friday night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sets the shiny, red solo cup down on the fireplace mantle, the contents mostly full. It didn’t even taste good, anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a game of truth or dare taking place in one corner and a game of spin the bottle in another. He thinks he saw two girls drunkenly making out in a closet before someone was sent to fetch them. Some friends have commandeered the sofa, talking and laughing, and the conversation looks deep like they’re discussing their futures that exist outside of these four walls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone looks so carefree. Once upon a time, Eiji wondered what it must feel like. He no longer does. It’s unobtainable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The entryway is to his left and he’s getting kind of tired of the cold air rushing in every time someone opens the door. A sigh is building in his lungs as he heaves himself from the wall but is caught in his throat as he’s almost toppled over by a large man pulling a smaller man by the hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yut-Lung is letting himself be used again. Nothing new. He does it at every party. Gets insanely hammered, flirts with the straightest, most muscular men he can find, and ends the night getting fucked out of his mind. His reputation remains untouchable on account of his family owning the school and the school board. Not that he’s ever cared what people think of him, anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji rolls his eyes, preparing to walk himself home even if it takes him all damn night, but Yut-Lung’s protests sound less like joking and more like desperation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let go of me! You said you didn’t want any, so I left you alone! And then you wait until I’m alone...stop!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing about this situation is anything Eiji is used to. He finds himself compelled to follow them up the stairs, regardless. Is he really the only one sober enough to notice this or do people really not care this much? Profound sadness, different than his usual one, flows through him at the thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He weaves through the people milling about on the stairs, leaning against the railing, blocking entrances and exits as they try to flirt their way into someone’s affection. Not a single one of them acknowledges the race taking place beside them. It’s as if the world is holding its breath, preparing for the creation of their future relationship. Like this moment, depending upon Ash’s decision, is a precipice. A catalyst. The tipping point for all change to occur. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash feels it in his gut. His heart. He wonders if Eiji does, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji catches them in the room at the end of the hall, slamming open the door to find Yut-Lung trapped beneath the man. The man has his hand up Yut-Lung’s skirt, though it’s pulled away quickly once he notices Eiji’s very sudden, very loud appearance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a wild look in Yut-Lung’s eyes, a swirling, melting-pot of fiery emotions. He’s drunk, too drunk, just as drunk as he wants to be. Eiji thinks he’s too pretty to be putting himself in situations like these. Or maybe he’s just pretty enough. He confuses Eiji.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the pleading reaches out, grabs him by the collars, breathes a gangly tangle of arms and hands into his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji knocks the ceramic vase of the table lamp into the guy’s head. It shatters and he slumps to the carpet out cold. He’s not dead, thank God, only bleeding slightly at his temple. Eiji hopes the mixture of pain and alcohol will erase his memory of this night entirely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is the second time in two weeks he’s hurt someone other than himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you okay?” he asks Yut-Lung, turning to face the boy in question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His slitted eyes are widened and his small, slender lips are opened in surprise, shock. He holds his precious hair to his chest like a child might clutch their teddy bear. Eiji watches those dark eyes slide from the guy on the floor to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck did you just do?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words are a cold whisper Eiji wasn’t expecting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Erm...helped you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stands from the bed, the shimmering blue of his skirt fluttering around his ankles. “Helped me? I didn’t need help. I didn’t ask for it, did I?” Tears begin spilling down his cheeks. “Look what you fucking did! Fucking ruined my night, that’s what! He was—he was gonna—and then you—you ruined it! It’s all your fault! Get out, get out, get out!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji stumbles backwards out of the room, out the way he came, suddenly very frightened of Yut-Lung’s outburst. He doesn’t know what to say. He was just trying to help him. That’s what good people do, right? Is he a good person? Or is he a failure, once again?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yut-Lung looks very small and feeble crying to himself on his hands and knees like that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji runs away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~ ~ ~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shorter’s vomit is a mixture of wasabi and tequila. It must burn coming back up. Ash almost feels sorry for him. But his ass hurts from sitting on the cold tile of the bathroom floor for thirty minutes while his best friend stinks up the small space with his periodic retching. At least he made it to the toilet—the sticky, piss-covered toilet. Ash isn’t going to tell him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash doesn’t do parties. Shorter does. Too often. So Ash plays designated driver every weekend because his dumb brain cares too much. Borrows Max’s car because Max wants them to be safe if they’re going to keep doing stupid shit like this. He trusts Ash and Ash is just waiting for the day he breaks it cleanly in half. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m never drinking again,” Shorter groans, voice echoed within the bowl. His hands are bunched in his hair, squeezing his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash sighs. “You say that everytime.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I mean it this time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe don’t take so many shots.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But people keep given’ ‘em to me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because they know you’re willing.” Ash checks the nonexistent watch on his wrist. “Are you done throwing your guts up or can we go?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, help me up…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash has Shorter’s arm around his shoulders, carrying most of man’s weight and struggling to get the both of them through the doorway when the cops bust the party. He can hear them yelling to shut the music off, see their flashlights shining in the hallway. Shit. Fuck. Why the fuck does Shorter have to be completely useless right now?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We gotta split, Shorter. The cops are here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash tugs him in the opposite direction, sprinting past those unaware, hoping to find a backdoor somewhere. Shorter is turning green beside him. He skids past familiar, empty eyes and backtracks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eiji?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji’s brows furrow. At least he looks more aware today. “Ash? What are you doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash flinches when a harsh light flashes in his face. “Cops are here, we gotta run. C’mon!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grabs his hand without thinking, pulling him along and out the backdoor onto the lawn. Where to? Where to? They can’t go out front, it would be crawling with cops. But they can’t hide here, they’d be found for sure. Damn, guess he’ll just have to haul Shorter’s drunk ass over the fence and hope for the best.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shorter, man, can you get your head on straight for two seconds?” He cups his hands, squatting low. “Put your foot in my hands and I’ll lift you over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a struggle, and Ash is worried they’re gonna get caught with how long it takes for Shorter to finally fall in a heap over the other side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, Eiji, you next.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji hesitates. “My ankle…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck. Ash forgot. “Brace yourself for pain, I guess. I’m sorry, but unless you wanna get shoved into the back of a police car for trying to make a break for it, we gotta go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji is easier to help over, though Ash doesn’t miss the way he clenches his teeth in pain when he uses his bad ankle to leverage himself on the edge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, you there! Stop!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash doesn’t even bother turning around as he uses the rest of strength to heave himself over and into a tangle of tree limbs and leaves. Lifts Shorter up and practically drags him through backyards with Eiji in tow. He’s fairly sure they won’t give chase. They’re just some dumb kids drinking and causing a ruckus. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, he finds a place to stop and rest, breath coming out in heavy pants. They can wait a few, catch their breath, and circle back around. The cops should be gone by then. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except, Shorter gives little warning before he pukes all over Eiji’s shoes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, God, I’m so sorry, Eiji,” he whines, holding his stomach and sitting down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji pinches his nose, face screwing up in disgust. “It is alright, Shorter. They are my track shoes. I do not need them anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks very sad saying those words aloud. Ash wonders if it’s the first time he’s ever had to. He watches as he toes off the cleats, briefly questioning why he wore them in the first place, before beginning to tie the laces together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing?” Ash asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He holds them by the knot, carefully avoiding touching the vomit, and walks beneath the telephone line. “I am going to throw them over the wire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he does. They fly in the night before getting caught by the line, twirling and swinging around each other until coming to a slow stop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The vomit-covered track shoes of Banana Fish Street,” Ash states, feeling a sudden shift in Eiji. “Poetic.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~ ~ ~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Throwing away his shoes like that left Eiji feeling a lot of things. He can’t pinpoint any of them. He knows he feels like he might cry at any second, but Shorter is in the back groaning in pain and Ash is next to him driving as slow as possible. He’d be embarrassed if he started balling like a baby in front of them unprompted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash offered to take him home, but claimed he wanted to drop Shorter off first before he threw up all over his dad’s car. Eiji said he didn’t mind spending the night. He didn’t really want to go home. Home makes him sad. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will your parents be mad?” Eiji asks, tugging awkwardly at his seatbelt. He didn’t like the silence, but Ash said the radio was busted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. They’d rather I be safe than sneak out. They’ll be asleep by now, anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A strike of jealousy hits Eiji in the chest at Ash’s words. He can’t help it. Growing up, his parents never let him do anything. They were so strict. But he grew up in Japan. America and Japan are very culturally different. It made it difficult when he’d first moved. Makes it still difficult now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They know where you went?” Eiji wonders what it might have been like if his parents helped him instead of pushing him past his limits all the time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash raises an eyebrow, probably annoyed by the interrogation. “Yeah. They know I don’t like getting drunk. They trust me, I guess. I just go ‘cause Shorter doesn’t know when to quit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, you are a good friend, then.” Ash doesn’t say anything in response to Eiji’s compliment, but he sees the way the blond’s shoulder tighten and tense. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is a slightly different Ash than the one all those rumors painted. But Eiji isn’t going to bring that up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Truth be told, EIji barely remembers that night he spent in the park with Ash. He’d been having a bad day and felt like giving up entirely when he’d exited school to find his car completely trashed. Then Ash showed up, asked zero questions about his precarious state of being, and offered him a ride. He wanted to lay there forever, but the way Ash looked at him compelled him to say yes. Like he knew exactly how he was feeling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash knows more than he lets on, and Eiji is beginning to like that about him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They pull into a gravel driveway beneath a rusty carport. There’s a bike and a few other things like sports equipment and gardening tools littered about. Eiji helps Ash drag Shorter up the steps to the house. It’s two-story and needs badly repainted, but Eiji has no room to complain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji almost stops to remove his shoes before remembering it’s not a practiced custom in America. The entryway is small, leading directly to a set of stairs. Off to the left is the living room leading into the kitchen. That’s where Ash leads them, down a second set of stairs and into a half-finished basement. The only finished thing about it is Ash’s room. He’s even got a bathroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They lay Shorter to snooze on his unmade bed and Eiji takes the break to look around. It’s pretty bare for a teenage boy. The furniture is plain and obviously used, but there aren’t any pictures or posters lining the walls. Not even any shelves. However, in one corner lies a large pile of books about to topple over. Ash must like to read a lot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s an air mattress in this mess somewhere,” Ash starts, walking out of the room. “Shorter’s obviously got the bed, so we’ll have to share if you’re okay with that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji doesn’t know what to do or where to go, so he stands there awkwardly, replying, “That is okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He is curious, though, when he peeks into the bathroom, why the mirror is broken.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~ ~ ~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They’re awoken in the early hours of the morning to Ash’s small window shattering. Surprisingly, Shorter doesn’t move a muscle. It’s dark and Eiji and Ash keep bumping into each other on the stupid, deflated mattress. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash eventually flicks on the light, squinting at the harshness after being rudely interrupted from his precious sleep. Eiji follows his line of sight, peering over to see a rock with a note attached laying in the carpet amidst the glass.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Papa Dino misses his favorite pet.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eiji doesn’t know what that means, but he doesn’t like it. And he really doesn’t like the way Ash has completely frozen in place, the color draining from his body. This is not the Ash he knows nor the infamous Ash he’s heard of. That Ash is strong and confident, a brutal, deadly fighter. Loyal and protective. This Ash is like a little kid. Frightened and shaking and on the verge of crying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji doesn’t know what to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash isn’t saying anything and now he’s starting to get scared, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Ash sprints to the bathroom, slams the door shut, and the sound of the lock echoes loudly in the silence after.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji calmly sits with his back to the door, falling asleep to the sound of Ash’s panicked breathing and fitful sobs, desperately wishing he had the courage to knock.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I want you all to know that the scene where they jump over a fence to escape the cops is exactly what happened to me once. I was very drunk and fell into a bunch of branches and people kept pulling leaves out of my hair when I went back to the party.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter V</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Ash doesn’t talk about the previous night’s events. Eiji doesn’t ask. He covers up the window with duct tape and cardboard, meticulously cleans up the shards of glass, and leaves Shorter snoring away the morning on his bed to take Eiji home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rock is deposited into the trash and the note he rips to shreds so small his fingers were laden with papercuts by the end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ignores Max’s pointed stare as they pass through the living room from where he’s playing cars with Michael. Part of him, however, is glad it’s his turn to work from home this weekend. Jessica would have been ruthless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji awkwardly waves and Ash has to stifle a snicker he can feel rising from his throat. Even after a night of no sleep and debilitating panic, Eiji somehow still manages to make him laugh and the kid isn’t even doing it on purpose. It makes Ash want to wallow in his anxiety.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji holds him less tightly this time as he rides leisurely down the streets. Something about this brisk morning, not yet nine, makes him want to stop and stare. Smell the roses. Watch the sun rise higher and higher until it peeks above the sprawling buildings. Ash is beginning to think it has everything to do with Eiji.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because, after last night, he has every reason not to bother waking up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji lives near the park where it all started. It’s a collection of dilapidated homes in an area Ash knows to be mostly populated by minorities. Dirt driveways, one hundred square feet of a backyard, and a small stoop that also serves as the front lawn. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In spite of the forlorn look of the palace, the residents seem lively and affable as he pulls into the small community. They wave and smile in his direction, looking innocently curious. One of them even yells out ‘Nice bike!’ in a heavy accent. It makes Ash feel good inside, knowing these people know nothing about him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji hides his face in the back of his jean jacket, pointedly ignoring all of his neighbors. Ash’s heart flutters uncontrollably, and he feels mildly embarrassed that Eiji can most definitely feel it. But a bigger part of him worries. It’s such an odd reaction. Is Eiji that shy?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash pulls up to a red paneled, one-story home with the front door ajar. Ajar? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eiji, why is your front door open?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh? Open?” There’s no mistaking the panicked gasp that escapes from the depths of his lungs as he unwinds himself from Ash and stumbles his way inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quickly, Ash turns the bike off, almost breaks the kickstand in his effort to release it, and follows suit. The inside is a mess. The doorframe is splintered from being kicked in, knick-knacks and other china have been throw to the floor, tossed, broken apart, shattered, and a giant </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘F’ ‘A’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>has been spray-painted in bright red over one wall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s so thick the paint trickled down in gruesome rivulets to the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Furniture has been upended. Cabinets thrown open and emptied. TV appearing untouched until Ash rounds the corner and finds a pretty, gaping hole in the glass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something heavy pulls him down, wraps a band around his head to tug him hard—this is his fault. Arthur and his stupid antics; stupid, sadistic ways. Ash ruins people’s lives by default. He emits a dangerous frequency. It hurts people. Kills people. He surrounds himself with a certain kind for a reason. The rumors have that part correct, at least. Only the toughest can survive him. Therefore, Ash is the toughest of them all. He never wanted to be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reluctantly, he follows the layout of the house, peaking into rooms and discovering much of the same as before. Wonders where Eiji could have disappeared to in such a small space before he finds him crouching over the bathroom tub. His heart jumps into his throat, nearly choking him, once he sees the women laying within the confines of white. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is—is she…?” He trails off, unable to voice the worst of his concerns. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can see the same worry, the same fear in Eiji’s eyes. “No,” he says, a collective sigh of relief, “they did not harm her. But she will not...will you help me take her to bed, please?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This woman looks like him. His mother. She is smaller, skinnier, far more fragile than anyone Ash has ever seen, ever held. Suddenly, images of an Eiji a few years down the line flash in his mind and he feels hopelessly lost. Either one of them could have carried her by themselves, in their arms like a symbolically melancholic Prince Charming, but there’s an unnamed, untouched, unacknowledged comfort in the collaboration. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They have her under the covers of a broken room and Ash, lost and looking for guidance in a home he doesn’t know but is now intimately tied to, follows Eiji at his heels. He leads them to his room and Ash physically winces. It’s scary, terrifying, to have an unknown person rifle through your belongings, touching things that are not theirs, sifting through a place you thought was safe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji looks at none of it. Coasts numbly to a broken object on the ground—a camera. The lens is in black, glassy pieces, tinkling together in the carpet when Eiji picks it up. His knuckles are white, his hands are shaking, his back is hunched like he doesn’t want Ash to see what Ash has already guessed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tears are silent, and Ash thinks that’s the scariest part.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He offers to help clean up and Eiji only nods mutely. They pile pictures in broken frames, toss uselessly broken family heirlooms, hesitate on things with supreme sentimental value that neither can afford to repair. They take a bucket of soapy water and sponges and spend too long scrubbing the stain away. Their fingers have metaphorically bled through by the end. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash excuses himself to the bathroom and that’s where he finds them. On complete accident, of course. There’s nothing much to do other than look around vacantly as he takes a much-needed piss. He doesn’t mean to find them hidden beneath the tissue and bandage wrappers in the trashcan and he doesn’t mean to already know exactly what they are.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t mean to pull one of those bloody razors out of the hidden depths, secrets suddenly shining in the limelight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He opens the door, maroon metal still in between thumb and forefinger, to find Eiji standing there with a wild look in his eyes. He knew. Ash knew. An understanding has passed harshly between them. The dynamic has shifted. Neither was ready. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have depression,” he supplies dumbly, pupils darting between maroon and jade. “I cope.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash doesn’t know how to respond.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know I should not. I try to stop many times.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You hate me now. I am sorry—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you need help?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They catch stares. Ash simmering and Eiji boiling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...yes. Yes, I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash nods, bites his lips, says, “Okay,” and throws the offending piece back where it belongs. “Do you have more?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji willingly hands over the box from his nightstand. Willingly lets Ash dump the trash in the sewer. Says not a single word when Ash searches every inch of the house until satisfied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he begins to speak, “My father died three years ago. He was not an awful man. He was not great, either. My parents—they argue a lot. Forget about us. I thought if I find something I am good at, they will notice me. Be proud of me. It never work. We move here for fresh start. Things are still the same. Worse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash feels bad about his lack of words. No one has ever opened up to him like that before. He knows things about Bones and Kong and Alex, but they never reach the surface. Are never spoken, brought into existence, stretched out until comfortable. The difference with Shorter is that Shorter never stops talking about himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash feels like this is a classroom show-and-tell and now it’s his turn to share his deep, dark secrets. He can’t. Not yet. Why does he feel so ashamed about it? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry about your dad,” he says lamely, deflating in confidence with every syllable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji says thank you anyway, and they share a kindling of silence in a newly cleaned room. Neither one remembers leaning on the other, but neither pulls away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~ ~ ~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eiji wakes up to rain Monday morning. Pouring rain accompanied by periodic bursts of thunder and purple lighting the cloudy sky. His first thought is the meet is going to be canceled that day. His second is how much he doesn’t want to walk to school in this weather.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pills, breakfast, mom, school. His hood is pulled taut and his backpack is covered in plastic bags and he would have ran the whole way if not for his ankle. He arrives late and is given detention by the front office receptionist. His first detention ever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The day passes by in a haze. He can’t recall any of his classes, any of his assignments, not even Ash’s face, worrying bleeding from his features, mouth moving without words. His hair dries by the end of the first hour. His clothes by sixth. He takes lunch to set them beneath the air-dryers in the bathrooms instead of eating. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He appears like a forlorn ghost in the library to carry out his sentence. All that white puddles beneath his feat once he makes direct eye-contact with Arthur. Arthur with a cast around his leg. Arthur with stupid-looking crutches just like his. Arthur with that glint, that fire, that sadistic smirk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji sits as far away from him as possible. The teacher leaves briefly, unconcerned with his trouble-making students. Eiji flinches as the chair next to his scrapes against the wood and a person sits down in it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Heard you roughed-up one of my boys, Okumura.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji can’t dignify that with a response. Can’t speak around the closing of his throat. Can’t even swallow his nerves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur doesn’t say more, but Eiji can see his triumphant smile rising higher and higher.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji’s ankle no longer hurts. Not nearly as much as the bruises littering his torso, legs, arms, face. Not nearly as much as the swirling of his stomach that makes him want to hurl everything he didn’t eat today. Not nearly as much as the pounding of his head, the throbbing orchestra of every single place Arthur attacked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sing Soo-Ling helps him limp down the hallway despite being shorter, skinnier, and lankier than him. Threw a bunch of books at Arthur until he’d stopped his assault. Lead him on a chase right to security. Circled back to check of Eiji still laying there, contemplating his life’s decisions up until that point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want me to take you to the nurse’s office?”  The young, Freshman asks, eyeballing each splatter of purple and blue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji shakes his head. “The nurse is gone now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Sing stutters, keeping his grip, “then d-do you want a ride? My older brother is picking me up, I’ll just tell him to drop you off!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji shakes his head again. “I am fine. Do not worry about me.” He just wants to be alone. He appreciates the help. But he really wants to be alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They emerge from the school unto a still cloudy sky, but the rain has ceased even if aftershocks of thunder still sound in the distance. The day is warmer than the previous, the humidity thick in the air. Eiji feels as if his clothes are already wet once more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he certainly isn’t expecting Ash to be standing there, hands in his hoodie pocket and leaning against his bike. He’s turned away from them, yellow blowing in the slight breeze and masking whatever emotions might be crossing his face, but looks back at the sound of their labored footfalls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Immediately, his muscles tense. Eiji can tell. “What the hell happened to you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sing is here, witnessing Ash not being normal Ash, and Eiji feels too exposed. He laughs off the questions with a joke. “I look like you did!” And smiles, hoping it’s at least believable to Sing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash knows. He knows. He knows him so well after such a short amount of time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks for lookin’ out for him, Sing,” he says, not taking his eyes from Eiji. “I can take him home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sing can feel the tension, blinks between the two of them with furrowed brows, but he nods in acquiescence and leaves with a wave. Eiji sighs in relief. Avoids Ash’s gaze as he settles behind him for the third time. Squeezes his eyes shut and presses himself into the warmth. He could almost fall asleep like this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji feels incredibly embarrassed when they stop in front of his house and he doesn’t make any effort to move.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eiji?” Ash asks, a million other questions interspersed in that one name.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stay with me? Please?” Vulnerability feels different when it’s with Ash. Eiji doesn’t know why. But he does. He’s beginning to. “You make me feel like I do not need medication to not be depressed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Ash stays.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji likes that Ash is in his home. Like that he’s sitting at his table. Likes that he’s eating a traditional dinner he made from scratch. Even if the faces Ash makes are ones of disgust. He hasn’t eaten dinner with another person in a very long time. They talk small, sometimes not at all. Eiji keeps waiting for Ash to insist on an explanation, but he never does. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wonders how much it must torment him to let things go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dishes are empty and placed in the sink to be washed by the time Eiji’s sister comes home. Eiji hasn’t seen her in three weeks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Where have you been?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he asks, excusing himself from a bewildered Ash to follow her down the hall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>A friend’s house.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” She doesn’t turn around. Keeps her back to him as she unpacks and packs again. Dirty clothes for fresh ones.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>You don’t have time to come by, let me know you aren’t dead?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Exasperation in the highest form.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes roll, her feet shuffle past his form in her doorway, and her body language indicates annoyance. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Clearly, I’m fine.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What if you weren’t?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He follows, relentless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t bother yourself with ‘what if’s’, Eiji.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Too wise. She is too wise. Too old. Forced to grow up. He hates it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>You are fourteen, you can’t just come and go as you please.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” She is more mature than he is. They both know it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stops, hand on the doorknob. Turns around, eyes cold. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>What? You want me to stay home and end up like you? Sad and lonely?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He recalls Ash still sitting there in the kitchen, able to hear their screaming match. He can’t understand, inflection exists and Ash is very smart. Can he hear the way Eiji’s heart drops at his sister’s words?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>You don’t care about mom?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he questions, losing vigor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>She never cared about us.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>That’s not true.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>It is, and you know it.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It is. He’s running out of arguments. Running out of things to stay. Running out of ways to keep her from running out of his life. Why can’t they just stick together like normal siblings? Why do they always fight?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Well, what about me? You don’t care about me?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Please.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Which one of us has the job and pays the bills? And you think I don’t care?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Silence. Dead silence. Defeated silence. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Have fun with your friend, brother. I’m gonna head to work and then have fun with mine.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She slams the door, rattling the thin walls in resonance and Eiji’s heart. He sits down heavily in the wooden kitchen chair across from Ash, face turning red. “Ah, I am sorry. I did not mean for you to see that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash only mumbles, albeit awkwardly, “Not a problem.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji pushes his fork around his plate, wanting to dissipate the energy swirling around them. “Do you ever fight with your brother?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash perks up and Eiji thinks it was the right thing to say. “Michael? No, he’s too young to get angry about anything other than bedtime. And it’s a little bit difficult to argue with my older brother if he’s in a coma.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The air is suddenly sucked from the room. Or, that’s how Eiji thinks Ash must feel. He knows he didn’t mean to reveal that. Based on the widened eyes, the rippling of his shoulders beneath his cotton shirt, the white-knuckling the edge of the table—Ash is suddenly very afraid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji backpedals wildly. “You do not have to explain to me! I am sorry for asking!” But he is so very curious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash blinks those pits of Jade away, centering himself. “No, it’s okay. I—it’s hard to talk about.” He swallows. Chokes. Blinks some more. “I owe to you after what you told me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji nods his understanding. “Would you like me to prepare some tea, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They move the conversation to Eiji’s roof, watching the stars as Ash reveals his backstory, his tormented childhood. Eiji doesn’t quite know what he was expecting. It wasn’t… that. Snippets of memories, stories, of a mother who ran away and a father who didn’t want him and a brother who left for the call of war. An evil baseball coach. An evil businessman. Years of unspeakable acts until a savior appears by the name of Max. Only to relay news of his brother’s injuries. Court hearings and policemen, journalists, detectives. Living semi-normal. Trying to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The wounds are raw and salted. Ripped back open. Eiji holds him as he sobs. Hold himself together he sobs, too. Wishes the rain could begin again and match the mood. Eiji leads a stricken Ash to his bedroom, tucks him and tucks himself in beside him. They find solace in each other’s warmth. Solace in embrace. Two poor souls connected in the worst of ways. They have each other now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Can it be enough?</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter VI</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I rewrote this three times and it's still iffy.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>In the current state of the crumbling foundation that is Eiji’s life, he’s lost his vaulting scholarship, lost the only professional camera he could afford, and the near-future is terrifyingly unclear. When he thinks about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash and he spend every waking moment together. He genuinely can’t remember the last time he actively wallowed in his thoughts, letting himself sink into black tar and prodding hands, never to emerge the same. Most mornings he flies out of bed because Ash is always there, waiting with his bike and an embrace. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The weather feels warm. Ash feels warm. He feels warm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His depression hasn’t magically disappeared into thin air, but companionship is a thing he never knew could help so much. It puts into perspective how lonely he was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He met Kong and Bones and Alex. Eiji thought they looked like caricatures. But he found a cozy spot within their group and the dynamic barely rippled beneath a foreign, doe-eyed boy who very clearly doesn’t belong. He does, though. Ash tells him so. The rest tell him so.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kong never lets him feel left out. Bones makes him feel like an old friend. Alex...made him nervous because he was too good-looking and Eiji isn’t around attractive boys that often, but he’s insightful in a way Eiji finds refreshing. Ash is an exception and he will not elaborate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji will dream about his new friends. Will dream about Ash. Will dream about him and Ash and unlocked doors. They’re good dreams. But sometimes they’re bad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>University is a dark, looming presence on the horizon and Eiji cannot afford it. Arthur stalks the black edges of each panel of his life, keeping him thoroughly paranoid and bristling. And Ash—Eiji is tumultuous, speed-balling back and forth between speaking his issues and keeping so silent he implodes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Late, on those nights he can’t keep his eyes closed, his body still, his heart steady, Eiji wishes they could be friends without the baggage. He hates hesitating on every word, hates back-tracking, hates the guilt and constant apologizing. Wishes he could speak plainly and openly without the depression laced intricately around every syllable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Regardless, life has been good and he owes it to Ash. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yo, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oni-chan</span>
  </em>
  <span>, are you there?” Ash snaps his fingers in Eiji’s face, amusement across his own. “Looked like you were having a wet dream or something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji sputters in embarrassment, face heating up, and swats at Ash’s shoulder. “I was thinking!” Blond eyebrows raise knowingly. “Not about that stuff!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash laughs and Eiji swivels his head around, making sure no one could hear their conversation. He didn’t want people to think he was a pervert or anything. He was simply...reminiscing. And Ash makes him smile uncontrollably. He can’t help it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mornings before school are things Eiji has begun to look forward to. Speeding into the parking lot, ignoring the stares of classmates, ignoring the rumors that have begun circulating around them. Linking arms and heading inside without a single care other than whom they’ve linked arms with. Laughing and joking as they stand around their lockers, stuck together until the second bell chimes just as they’ve passed the threshold into their first hours. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This morning, however, Aslan Callenreese is called over the crackling intercom, barely heard between the raucous student body. Brown meets green in confusion and their time together is cut short. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~ ~ ~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ash is going to have a panic attack. He can feel it thrumming beneath his skin, igniting at the tips of his fingers. Caving his chest in. Opening up the front office door to see both Max and Jessica standing there, faces somber and grave, scared him shitless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A barrage of thoughts piles their efforts into knocking Ash’s skull aside and now he has a headache, too.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Golzine is back. He’s back and he’s coming to get me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I can’t stay with them anymore. They can’t afford it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Griffin. Something has happened with Griffin.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The ride to the hospital is dead silent. Max and Jessica exchange worried glances, watch him through the rearview mirror. Ash keeps his head bowed, shoulders hunched, hair shielding the emotions he knows are flickering across his face like busted neon signs. He wants to be whisked away from this moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Eiji, why didn’t I ask you to come with me?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash avoided coming as often as he could. He didn’t like looking at Griffin like that. Now that money and resources have become futile, he regrets it entirely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sterility stings his nostrils, burns his eyes. Tanglizes the idea that everything Ash touches, he ruins. Griffin hasn’t improved in the four years since their reunion. The same nurses change his fluids, his bedding. Keep him looking as if he’s merely sleeping and not fighting the verge of death at every passing second.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Griffin never really came back from the war. Ash has to understand that now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doctor is saying a bunch of jargon Ash could accurately guess on the meaning, but he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to hear his words, his apologies or sympathies. He’ll pretend he’s that very same dumb teenager every adult thinks he is. Their eyes will pass him over and unload the news to someone who can actually carry it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the end, the decision is still his and he hates it. So much he imagines it’s italicized coming out of his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Memories long forgotten, stored in a dusty filing cabinet, play on a reel. Griffin holding him atop his shoulder. Griffin helping him catch his first fish. Griffin pulling him away before a wave could topple him over. Griffin giving him his first taste of beer and laughing at the sneer of disgust he makes. Griffin. Griffin. Griffin…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The time of death is somewhere between ten o’clock and ten-twenty. Ash isn’t in the room when they call it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max’s words and Jessica’s hands try to reach out to him, but Ash takes off sprinting down the hallway before they can see his tears digging tracks down his cheeks. He’s calm, numb, sitting on the floor beside the car by the time they reach him. They ask if he wants to go home and he says no. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s something he needs to do.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~ ~ ~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eiji really tries to pay attention in class today, he does. He’s failing miserably, but at least it’s not because of debilitating self-loathing and hopelessness this time. Ash has been missing for nearly five hours and Eiji has absolutely no way of contacting him or figuring out where he is. He hates it. The waiting. The helplessness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s on his way to lunch when it happens.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now that the weather is warming up and the constant cover of clouds has mostly vanished, Eiji has taken to sharing the bleachers outside with Ash and Shorter to eat lunch. It’s nice. Quiet. Illegal according to school rules, but no one’s stopped them yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He passes by two kids spray painting a penis onto the bricks near the dumpsters, passes by a janitor snoring away his paycheck on the kitchen’s steps, passes by a couple of pigeons pecking at crumbs that fly away at his intrusion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He almost pees his pants at the hand suddenly gripping tight to his wrist before he realizes who it belongs to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ash!” And the worry makes his accent worse, but Ash doesn’t laugh this time. “Where did you go?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blond who has managed to capture his heart in a way he never believed possible has been crying. Panicking. He doesn’t respond, only tugs him behind as he speeds towards Eiji’s original destination. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pushes him up against the side of the bleachers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kisses him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desperately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like it’s a cry for help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Should Eiji kiss back? Is that too selfish? Presumptuous? But would Ash be mad if he pulled away? Shocked and hurt? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash steps away before Eiji really has a chance to mull it over. His eyes open to see him crying, face scrunched up as if he’s trying with all his might to not cry. Wordlessly falls into open arms, sinking them both to the ground. Eiji will keep them afloat, he will. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Griffin is gone, Eiji. Really gone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash isn’t delicate, but Eiji holds him that way anyway. Cradling him to his chest even though his knees hurt and his back is hunched and Ash’s fingers are grasping for purchase on his arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both turn their heads at the sound of footfalls. Shorter merely stands there, reading the situation, and supplies, “Skip day?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash nods. “Skip day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They look to Eiji.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My grades are going to be so bad at the end of semester.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~ ~ ~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How many beers has he had?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno, two?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How much weed did he smoke?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno, half?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji’s first time doing drugs consists of draping himself across Ash’s lap and clutching him tightly. Ash is mildly content and moderately calmed and wholly flustered because Shorter is right there and wheezing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This boy loves you so much, man!” he shouts, smirking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shorter says the word so loosely, Ash knows he doesn’t mean it like </span>
  <em>
    <span>that. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Still. His heart starts racing and the idea that Eiji could...maybe...someday? He wants to hold onto that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While Eiji dozes the drugs out of his system in his lap, Ash and Shorter take the time to talk. Converse. Read each other in a different way than he and Eiji. Things with Eiji are so heavy, delicate, brimming with seriousness and vulnerability. But with Shorter, they can joke and laugh and bounce around horrible subjects with airy tones because neither one of them likes being downers with each other. Well, Ash tries.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They breeze past the subject of Griffin and Ash doesn’t cry this time. Merely shrugs like it’s not that big of a deal and Shorter rubs his shoulder because he knows it is. And that’s all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look at him like he’s your whole world, dude. You’re fuckin’ whipped.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash can’t bring himself to look away from Eiji’s peaceful face. Soft eyelids that flutter with subtle movement. Puckered lips breathing slight sighs. Relaxed features that Ash wants to touch and remember forever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I kissed him today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shorter nearly spit-takes his Coors. “Excuse me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Heat of the moment, I guess. I don’t know what I was thinking. But I know I liked it. Even if the situation wasn’t...ideal.” Ash hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You gonna date him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash tucks a strand of black behind small ears. “Am I allowed to?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So many signs. So many implications. So much psychoanalysis and reading into things and overthinking. Ash is pretty damn sure his budding feels are reciprocated. But Eiji has yet to say a single word about it. Ash needs explicit consent. And he’s too damn afraid to ask for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kiss was great and Eiji kissed him back. But he assaulted him. Took the lead and kept him blind. He won’t do it again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eiji loves you no matter what.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He doesn’t love me.” Does he? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Love and attraction are separate entities. Always. Right? They’ve never existed together for Ash. Why does Shorter imply they are the same? They aren’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shorter knocks his fist against Ash’s temple. “Nah, he loves you. You guys are gonna be married one day and I’m gonna be best man. I’m calling it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The prospect of marriage sends him spiraling. A good spiral. One full of hope and excitement. Family and friends. Love? Love. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t fight the soft smile tugging at his lips.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter VII</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Lots of notes to relay<br/>i. this is dialogue-heavy and I suck at dialogue<br/>ii. this is also the calm before the storm. bask in the fluff and comfort while you can<br/>iii. y'all are probably wondering wtf Golzine and Yut-Lung have to do with this plot because I introduced them so long ago and haven't mentioned them since. I really hope you aren't disappointed in how I use them.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was always Aslan and Griffin. Griffin and Aslan. Never without the other. In the pocket of their tiny, coastal community, they felt invincible. In spite of runaway mothers and an absent father, they were happy. Alive. Casting out their hands to catch the sun’s rays and gifting it to each other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Five-year-old Aslan Callenreese traversed the dirt paths, the sandy beaches, the rocky shores with a brilliant smile. Had yet to learn the word lonely, though he was often alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aslan’s favorite job of Griffin’s by far was working at the tackle shop. The owner was an old woman with wrinkles that narrated her life’s story thus far. He read them daily. Childlike wonder, jade eyes sparkling before the world had a chance to dull them—she would tell him of her youth sailing around the cape and catching crab for dinner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shrill, bubbling laughter at funny anecdotes. Sweet, little </span>
  <em>
    <span>awww’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> at tragic memories. Gasps of the highest appraise when he couldn’t discern quite yet what a tall-tale was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d sit there on the counter, legs swinging and kicking, mouth moving a mile-a-minute at each and every customer walking through that door, tingling that little bell. Griffin would apologize with a small, sheepish smile as he rang them up, but they would always shake their heads with fond snickers and engage with the straw-haired, jade-eyed boy of </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Jo’s Bait n’ Things’</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He liked it because Griffin couldn’t take him to his other jobs.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He wakes slowly, calmly, feeling the stickiness of tears on his cheeks. Hearing the wind beating at the cardboard over his window. Seeing residue of The Before in the pitch black. Coming to the conclusion that life is unfair and there’s nothing he can do about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His fist shakes as it hangs suspended in mid-air, poised to knock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knocks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Enters at the muffled, “Yes?” that sounds from within.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Light from the hallway floods the room with sharp, geometric angles. Ash’s shadow stands in it like a harbinger. Max and Jessica sit up, squinting, blinking, rubbing the sleep from their eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash is still only seventeen. The paperwork must be exhausting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max speaks first, “Ash? Are you okay? What’s wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash looks away, biting his lips to keep it from trembling. He’s cried enough today. How is he still crying? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jessica speaks second, “C’mon, hun, just get in here with us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He meekly crawls in between them, nestled against two warm, safe bodies. Surrounded on all sides by trust. Hugging their hands to his chest like lifelines. Lifelines. That is what they are. Ash almost wants to laugh at the irony. He cries some more instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to follow Griffin,” he announces, speaks the realization into existence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now he is no longer the only one who knows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will they catch him when he falls? When he lets go? When he closes his eyes and makes peace with the inevitable rush? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damn Eiji and damn the circumstances for making him hope so. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We will help you. You’re aren’t alone, Ash.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A statement. A promise. A declaration of love. The chorus of his song. His heart dances to it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~ ~ ~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ash sleeps until noon the next day, groggy and bone-tired. Last night was a revelation, but life feels much the same. He still feels sad. Anxious. Like he has haloed hands reaching to him and he has yet to grab on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door cracks open, breaking Ash’s cocoon of self-deprecating coping. Jessica pokes her head in. “Good, you’re awake.” Steps in and opens the curtains to let the sunlight stream through. “I saved you a plate of breakfast. Pancakes, eggs, bacon…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash merely groans, turning over and burrowing deep into the sheets. “I’m not hungry.” He speaks it to the pillow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can perfectly picture her frown, brow twitching in annoyance. “Yes, you are. And I’m going to watch you finish it all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She leaves him to shower and contemplate the state of things. Arthur still exists, prowling around somewhere and waiting to strike. And that fucking rock from last month has had him looking over his shoulder every five seconds. And Eiji is smack dab in the fucking middle of it all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The old him would have sought out answers, knocking out, knocking past those in the way. Standing here under the shower spray, no longer seeing rivulets of beautiful rose pink, he’d rather spend time with his family.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If these are his last moments… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ash! Stop wasting water and get down here!”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Let’s put that thought on pause.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Jessica has stacked a mountain onto his plate. He devours it and then some. It tastes like family to him. He can’t get enough of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, why didn’t you guys wake me up for school?” he asks around a mouthful of syrup and pancake, rolling his eyes when Jessica gives him </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>look. The one reserved only for exasperated mothers and unruly children.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because you needed a day off.” She snaps at him to wipe his mouth. “You would’ve skipped anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash can’t even begin to explain how fucking glad he is to be living with them. How grateful he is they’ve taken him and cared for him and comforted him when they didn’t have to. When they shouldn’t have had to. When most adults would have sneered in his face, shoved him away, locked him outside to brave the harshness of society. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>These are kind people and he is still getting used to it. He remembers the first night he spent here. Didn’t sleep at all. Huddled himself in the corner with scissors pointed out and away, waiting for one of them to barge in. Remembers their patience, perseverance, persistence. Remembers how ashamed and embarrassed he was knowing they knew all the things he’d been forced to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’ve never judged him once. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His transition had been painful. Worth it. But painful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wouldn’t have been able to make it out alive without them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ash! Ash! Ash! Ash!” A ball of hyperactivity and inexhaustible energy comes barreling toward him, nearly knocking him over, chair and all. “Will you take me to the arcade today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael, arms securely around his middle and never letting go, gazes up at him with those pleading eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can take my car whenever you leave.” Max tosses the keys for Ash to catch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash looks around, confused. “What is this?  A vacation day for us all?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max and Jessica only give each other that same, knowing look they always give each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An hour later with a full belly and a flannel tied around the waist, Ash and Michael are battling back and forth for the highest score on Space Invaders. They haven’t even made it into the top five of the leaderboard, but neither really cares. They’ve got all day seeing as the arcade is nearly empty of kids; all too preoccupied with school at one in the afternoon on a Wednesday. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They toss light-hearted insults across the air hockey table, shove each other as they try to make baskets, cheer because Ash is incredibly efficient at the claw machine. Afterward, they go out for greasy pizza on paper plates and fizzy pop in towering styrofoam cups. Michael is tuckered out, leaning against Ash and wrapped up the green plaid, sipping his Pepsi with lidded eyes. Ash carries him out to the car on his back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max has scheduled him an appointment with his old therapist. The one who helped him in the aftermath. The one he quit going to because he thought he had grown up and gotten over it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They talk long and hard about things. Ash realizes how much he missed it. Talking to Max. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Until he asks, “So, who was that Asian kid you had over a while ago?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash doesn’t think he’s ever blushed harder in his life. He coughs, turning away and trying to hide the redness covering his pale skin, but it’s a futile effort. “Um...his name’s Eiji.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jessica, in the midst of picking up Michael’s action figures, gasps, “Is he your boyfriend?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my God,” Ash groans, burying his face in his hands and despising the way he can’t fight smile growing bigger and bigger. “No, he’s not my boyfriend.” It’s muffled into his palms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max laughs. “Then why are you blushing? You never get embarrassed like this!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because...because...I kind of...really...like him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck, those words were so hard to admit aloud. Letting them loose without simultaneously letting loose all the guilt and shame and fear surrounding them. It made him feel safe to keep them locked so tightly away in his mind, but now out in the open he feels lighter. He isn’t quite sure which one is better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Invite him over.” Ash’s eyes widen and he looks up, stunned, to Jessica. She shrugs, acting nonchalant. “We can introduce ourselves over dinner. Maybe I’ll even let him spend the night if you promise not to do anything stupid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash nods wildly. “I promise.” Then backtracks. “Wait, there’s a catch. There’s no way you’re gonna let two hormonal teenage boys who may like each other as more than friends spend the night together. I don’t believe it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I don’t believe it either. You’re not gonna let me have an opinion on this?” Max asks incredulously, gawking at his wife.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. The testosterone of the household is too strong for her sometimes. Then she rounds the coffee table and brushes yellow bangs away from a flaming forehead. “I just want you to be happy and fall in love. You deserve it.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji Okumura is really sitting across from him in his own kitchen eating a hotdog topped only with watery ketchup and spicy mustard. He laughs around his own Chicago-style when Eiji pinches his nose, wheezing out that it’s too spicy. Max goes to get him another one, but Eiji insists he will eat it all and repeats his cute </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Itadakimasu”</span>
  </em>
  <span> in faux bravado.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael can’t stop asking him questions about Japan and Eiji answers them all with as much enthusiasm as he’s receiving. Jessica nudges Ash with her foot, effectively snapping him out of reverie and snickers at the faraway look coasting in his eyes. He ducks his head, embarrassed at being caught.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he just can’t stop staring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji’s answers to Max’s interrogation don’t reveal much. Enough to be polite, satisfy, keep them off his heels. Ash doesn’t say anything. In the end, they think Eiji is a very nice young man worthy of his love and admiration without a single lick of trauma constantly digging at his back, rearranging the knots of his spine just to keep him teetering perfectly on the edge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash gets it. Truly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He helps Jessica wash up and they gossip like old women over the sink, lathering, rinsing, and repeating. Max takes the opportunity to whisper to Ash that he really likes him before heading to his office for some late-night work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’ve barely taken two steps into his room before Ash blurts, “I’m sorry for kissing you the other day. I won’t do it again.” Hangs his head in shame, hand still holding the knob of his closed door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji turns, pink dusting his cheeks, eyes darting everywhere but at Ash. “But I want you to.” Holds his hand over his mouth like he didn’t mean to say that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash’s head darts up. “Want me to what?” He needs clarification. He couldn’t have heard that correctly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A nervous laugh. “Kiss me again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Melted honey. That’s what Eiji’s irises look like in the sunlight. Well, a buzzing fluorescent bulb isn’t nearly as poetic, but Eiji’s irises always look the same to Ash. They stare into his soul, connecting him, latching on, never to let go again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because I liked it.” Shared breath and pounding heartbeats synchronizing. “Can we try again? Now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash nods because yes, yes he would like to try again. He would like to feel those soft lips brushing against his, encasing him in feelings he’s never before felt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His heart is screaming in his ears as Eiji steps toward him. Screaming as he puts his hands to his shoulders and balances on the tips of his toes. Screaming as they close their eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soft. Delicate. Eiji kisses him the way Eiji loves him. Peck after peck, mouths moving and forming paths. They clack their teeth together and the tension dissipates in their laughter and apologies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Settles for holding onto Eiji’s biceps. Jumps at the muscle he feels there. Laughs because it shouldn't be surprising. He chases those darkened, shiny lips when they shyly pull away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck. “Yeah, you were a great kisser.” Fuck, don’t look at him with those eyes after kissing him senseless. You don’t even realize what you do to him, do you?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stay up the rest of the night, always touching, always laughing, always dreamily staring at the other. Ash reads to him from his favorite books. Eiji proves he can carry Ash in his arms. They play music from the old, dusty radio and dance like maniacs. It’s their own private world in this small room, brimming with love and tenderness and budding romance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It nears four in the morning when Ash asks him, “Do you wanna be boyfriends?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Eiji replies like it’s nothing, “Are we not already?”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter VIII</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Old tags come back to relevance</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Window shopping is a painful venture and Eiji thinks people don’t talk about it enough. Traversing the streets of Manhattan, weaving in and out of the constant, unceasing foot-traffic—it’s hard for a person not to eye the shops lining the district of money and materials and not find at least one object to suit their fancy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In Eiji’s case, he’s let go of Ash’s hand in favor of staring down the latest line of sleek, black cameras with glittering lenses and fashionable straps nestled behind an obnoxiously window-painted advertisement. Presses his hands and nose up to the glass like a young child and their insatiable want for toys, eyes darting to and fro. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He misses photography. So many times has he watched Ash pass beneath a willow tree, the tendrils twirling about his picturesque person in filtered sunlight, or struggling to use chopsticks with a sheepish smile in the perfect iteration of domesticity, or wrestling with Shorter beneath a title of ‘Brothers.’ if Eiji had his own gallery. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ibe-san claimed he had a ‘natural talent’. It’s been the nicest, most genuine thing anyone has ever said to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’ll never be able to afford any of these. Never be able to show Ash the one thing he’d been simultaneously passionate and not depressed about. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop making yourself sad, c’mon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash, always finding him, always saving him, tugs him away from ruined futures and crushed dreams. Shoves people away and glares icily if they dare to object. Eiji always shadowing an uninterpreted “Gomen.” followed by as much of a bow as he can attempt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A force to be reckoned with, these two, tearing up pavement, streetlamps, yellow-striped awnings in their affection and comical dynamic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Today, Eiji just needed groceries and Ash wasn’t about to let him go alone. Their thirty-minute trip turned into one hour, two hours, now going on three. Ash hasn’t let him carry the bags once. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ash, are your arms not getting tired, yet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve got muscles and manners, let me use them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His boyfriend—ha—has decided to take them to Chang Dai for lunch and insists he knows the way via mildly concerning shortcuts. Things like cutting across busy intersections, sneaking through private property, strolling down slimy alleys of loiterers and piled garbage. Eiji tries not to make eye-contact with the crazed man with a half-shaved head and no pants. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘All for that discount,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he’d claimed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They get cornered between spray-painted brick and a rusted dumpster by Arthur. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash’s lips curl and Eiji can see the gears turning in his head, wondering how he’d let them, let him, get trapped like this. He steps forward, one arm outstretched protectively, shielding Eiji. Brown eyes peer out from behind rippling shoulders and widen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur is alone. Not a single one of his guys for backup. Just him, a black boot covering one foot, and a glinting pocket knife in scarred hand. Though, Eiji shrinks back at the psychotic look keeping his features shadowed and sharp. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shouldn’t you still have a cast?” Ash taunts, subtly shuffling further in front of his boyfriend. “Thought I cut that thing perfectly in half.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur flips the knife lazily. “I heal quickly.” Catches it and stops. “Besides, the pain only fuels my hatred for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji, privy to a brewing fight he desperately pleads not to happen, finds himself gripping the back of Ash’s shirt. Scrunching up the fabric out of fear and nervousness. Not for himself, not in this moment. It’s just getting warm enough for beads of sweat to begin forming at his hairline. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s your game, Arthur? You’ve tormented us for weeks and now you’re suddenly out of hiding?” Ash pulls his own knife free from the confines of his Converse. “Feeling cocky?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>God, Eiji hates the chuckle that escapes Arthur’s twisted mouth. “Maybe. I’ve been tailing you for an hour, but you were too busy ogling your new pet to notice.” Fingers snap in sudden recognition. “That reminds me! Did you enjoy that little note I sent?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Smugness. It’s an ugly look on this man. And irritating and terrifying and so typical.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Papa Dino sends his regards.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every sound becomes muted as if they’re all underwater and the currents are toppling and freezing cold. Eiji can see, feel, hear the muscles tensing in Ash, all pulled as taut as can be like he’s ready to pounce, maim, and kill. Eiji doesn’t know if he wants him to or not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you know that name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji thinks he might combust under the tension.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Papa told me all about you, Lynx.” A Cheshire grin. “All about little you fucking big men. Taking in the mouth, up the ass—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ash!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji is horrified at Arthur’s words and at Ash’s actions. Watches in slow motion as the two attack each other like savages. No coordination whatsoever. Just pure violence and full offense. Slicing, thrashing, swinging blindly until the blade hits its mark in a magnificent spray of blood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t know what to do. How to stop them. Ash will kill himself if it means ending Arthur. Eiji is tormented, slinking back against the wall and covering his ears as if the fight could simply cease to exist if he couldn’t hear it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hands grab at his wrists and he almost cries out in relief, “Ash!”. But the hands are too harsh to be his and when Eiji looks up, he’s utterly shocked to find steel and venom looking back down at him in disgust. “Yut-Lung?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stand up and come with me, I’m not carrying you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? H-how? Why are you here? What about them?” Eiji stutters and stumbles and gestures toward the two engrossed in their vengeance, too preoccupied to notice anything other than each other. Eiji is terrified for Ash.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hurry up!” Yut-Lung snaps, slapping Eiji across the face. “I don’t have all day!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stunned, Eiji stands on wobbly legs and shakily moves forward. “What are you doing?” he asks, watching as this enigma pulls his hair free.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yut-Lung reveals a small, sharp pin nestled within the dark trellises of silky, black hair that tumble down his back like an avalanche in its removal. “Don’t confuse me with helping you,” he answers mysteriously. “I’m merely completing a personal goal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he sneaks up behind Arthur, quiet as a snake and poisonous too, and sticks the needle into the carotid artery with deadly precision. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur collapses and bleeds out faster than any of them can breathe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did you do?” Ash whispers, disbelief in his shaky voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. Oh, God. He’s dead. Arthur’s dead. Eiji just witnessed first-degree murder. And they’re accomplices. They’re going to prison. He briefly remembers this the second time someone has been killed in front of Ash before his mind begins spiraling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash and Yut-Lung are talking, arguing, throwing cruel words back and forth, but Eiji can’t hear them. Can’t focus. Can only just manage to keep himself from passing out. Images of his father bleeding out in the kitchen of their old home play on repeat in his mind. Bleeding out. Struggling to breathe. Seizing as Eiji messed up the numbers for one-one-nine three times, the cord covered in sticky red and nearly choking him as he slides to the floor again. Mother and sister both screaming. Eiji screaming. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eiji.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paramedics.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eiji.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Flashing lights.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eiji!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash, torn and bloodied and ragged just the way rumors claim he is. Jade eyes panicked, though his disposition begs to differ. He’s trying to stay calm for Eiji’s sake. Eiji doesn’t tell him he knows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eiji, we have to go.” He lifts him up, supports his weight, guides him away from Arthur’s dead body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go where?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Away.” Leads him to a black van far too expensive for either of them to own, buckles him up in the passenger seat, and shuts the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Away where?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Somewhere far.” Starts the engine and drives. “We gotta hide ‘til all this blows over, ‘kay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji doesn’t say anything more until skyscrapers turn to trees, concrete turns to grass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about Yut-Lung?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a cut across Ash’s brow that squeezes out tiny pinpricks of blood when he frowns. “That bastard’ll be fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is all a dream. Dream Eiji will fall asleep with a seat belt digging into his hip and wake up back in his own bed to await Ash picking him up for school.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The scars on his stomach burn with need.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~ ~ ~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eiji wakes up from gentle prodding on Ash’s part. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re here,” he states.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re parked in the gravel driveway of a single-story home. The lawn is overgrown, knee-high when Eiji steps out, and he realizes two things: he can smell the sea and the previous events really did happen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur is dead and they’re here suddenly on the coast like the whitest, first-class family on vacation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ash, what are we doing?” The words come out in the softest, horrified whisper, almost carried away by the wind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blond in question stops, turns around with one foot on the steps of the porch. “Laying low.” Eiji thinks it’s meant to be reassuring, but he sounds just as frightened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The weather is far too calm for the electricity surging through their veins. The gentle swaying of the sea, the breeze delicately tickling their cheeks, the sun free to shine brightly in a brilliant, blue sky. Eiji wishes the universe would unleash a downpour, a lightning storm to punish them for their sins. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s when he follows Ash inside and catches sight of dusty, cracked pictures of a young, blond boy that he understands where they are. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They camp out with old sheets and lumpy pillows in the living room, holding each other as if they might disappear, liable to fade away at any second. It isn’t even nine, yet. And neither one of them feels like falling asleep. Eiji cleans Ash’s wounds, trying to will the awful memories away, </span>
  <em>
    <span>tsking </span>
  </em>
  <span>because some of the cuts definitely need stitches, but he doesn’t know how to do that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He just pours a lot of alcohol onto the gauze and tells Ash to quit being a baby.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Afterward, he sits on the edge of the bathtub and leans over to place his forehead on his boyfriend’s shoulder. “Why was Yut-Lung there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash sighs, leans into it. “He wouldn’t tell me. Just said he’d been tailing Arthur tailing us.” Sighs again more heavily. “I was so stupid not to notice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, he is dead now, so no need to worry anymore!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not funny and a poor attempt at humor. Nobody laughs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash ignores it. “Yut-Lung says he’ll handle it and I really don’t trust him, but we ain’t got a choice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They lay down to sleep, but neither wants to close their eyes. Eiji wonders what Ash is feeling, what he’s thinking. He can see slips, little flickers of emotions other than cool collection. He only knows he isn’t coping well and the need to find something sharp to distract himself is steadily growing larger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, he reaches out to Ash in the darkness, fingers scraping over wood and splinters, and digs his nails into his forearms. “I want to hurt myself, Ash. Do not let me hurt myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s pulled into a desperate embrace and loses himself in the feeling of fingers brushing up and down his back, through his hair, over his cheeks and arms. Ash touches him everywhere, igniting a different sensory input Eiji had never before considered. He feels overwhelmed in a good way, and the scars no longer sing their song under Ash’s ministrations. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wants to ask about Ash’s well-being, but falls asleep before he can.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter IX</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Deus ex machina. All I've ever wanted to give these boys.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Ash is more desensitized toward Arthur’s death than he thought he’d be. For the longest time, he’d prepared himself to squeeze a second heart through his fingers. Yut-Lung was a player he hadn’t noticed; a move he hadn’t predicted. Yesterday’s events have only left Ash more disillusioned than before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Normal teenage boys shouldn’t be so used to violence. It makes him feel eons away from Eiji, reaching out his hand and grasping nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Call him fucking selfish, but he wants to grab him and hold him tight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The better thing would be to push him away. After things die down first, of course.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yut-Lung seemed alarmingly unperturbed having just murdered someone, ordering Ash to take his family’s car somewhere remote and he’d deal with the rest. Ash was too concerned with Eiji’s subsequent panic attack, nodding in acquiescence after he’d realized he didn’t exactly have a good solution himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t know how long they were supposed to hide. Eventually, Max and Jessica would report their disappearance to the police and their plan would prove fruitless. This isn’t like the last time Ash ran away, no one to miss him or worry over his whereabouts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ironic how it takes a small disaster to make him realize life has, in fact, gotten better. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And if they get caught, the Randy-Glenreed family would surely disown him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t catch a fucking break.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash doesn’t often get the chance to watch Eiji sleep. This morning, however, he woke early, just as the sun was beginning to rise over the cliffs and sea. Eiji still slumbered in his arms and he lay there, unmoving, just observing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing filled him with more fear than those words from the night before. He only acted on pure instinct and the relief when Eji had finally passed out was palpable. Ash can only hope the worst has passed; that it happened only to be an anomaly, brought forth, triggered, by something he should never have had to witness twice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a while, he can’t help the pressure in his bladder and reluctantly pulls himself away. Carefully maneuvering Eiji into a more comfortable position, replacing his torso with his pillow into latching hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The house is too quiet for his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a hill in the backyard, grass blowing in the wind like ocean waves, where Ash used to play. When Griffin left, he’d sit solemnly, so unlike a kid of seven, and lose himself in what little a past he had. Nobody ever came for him...until someone did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash sits there now, ruminating, hating the bite of the wind, the sting of sea spray, the view of nothing to nowhere. Hands pillowed beneath a tangled mess of yellow. Red popping against a blue sky. A shadow looming over closed eyelids…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jade eyes shoot open, blinking rapidly, trying to focus without the use of his glasses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Charlie?” Shit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That damn ginger-haired fuck stares down at him with the most patronizing look on the planet. “You make my job so much harder, sometimes.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just need your witness statements and then you both can go home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash isn’t quite sure how to respond. Based on the wide-eyes and mild panic, neither is Eiji.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charlie walked Ash back to the house, a tightening grip on his elbow every time he’d tried to shove him off and a stern talking-to that he’d mostly ignored on the way. They’d entered to find Eiji, rumpled from sleep and clearly not doing well having been woken up to policemen banging on the door, sat upon the couch with Max. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The look Ash received at that moment could rival Jessica’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>According to Charlie, Yut-Lung Lee came stumbling into the police station covered in blood and in absolute hysterics, hiccupping and heaving that he’d killed a man but he didn’t mean to and he didn’t want to go to jail but the man was attacking him…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash locked eyes with Eiji and a certain illegal understanding passed between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the youngest member of the recently deceased Lee family, Yut-Lung garnered a lot of sympathy and Ash had to admit his respect. Clearly, he was a hell of an actor. Claiming Ash and Eiji had stepped in to help and when he’d had stabbed Arthur with his hairpin, hastily told them to take his car and hide. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps it was too ambitious of a story, but Yut-Lung held too much money and fame to be seriously questioned and Ash has to wonder how fucking lucky the circumstances came out to be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Best news of all, however? Dino Golzine, after bailing himself out of prison following the aftermath of Ash’s testimonies and the lawsuit, has been arrested. News of Arthur’s death spread through the city and so rumors he’d been working beneath the man. Convenient of Arthur to have held onto blatant evidence of Golzine’s money laundering, embezzling, drug-trafficking, child-trafficking and prostitution, and a long list of other horrific crimes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Golzine will most likely be denied bail, but his reputation is shot to hell either way and that Ash can rely on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Endings have never been this easy for him and he still can’t quite believe it. Charlie stated all of this with the ease of a detective radiating years in the field and Ash could only sit there gawking, relief flooding through his bloodstream and making a home for the first time in a long time. Allowed himself to be hugged on either side by a boyfriend and a father.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Charlie could bother asking, Ash blurts out that he’d seen Arthur acting shady and followed him down the alley despite Eiji’s resistance. They’re supposed to be giving statements, but Ash (sorry Eiji) really didn’t trust his boyfriend’s lying skills. So he rambles on like a kid who panicked and ran at the insistence of a potential murderer, admitting he’d gotten into a scuffle because everybody knows about their rivalry, and didn’t know what else to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It would align with Yut-Lung’s dramatic and untrue story and explain Ash’s precarious state of being.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The details are iffy and Ash thinks Charlie is readily aware, but he leaves them be finally to bask in the sudden steep low they’ve found themselves in less than twenty-four hours later. Both of them are banged up from the fall, but they’re alive and breathing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~ ~ ~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eiji hasn’t spoken once the entire ride home. Ash doesn’t know what to say to him, equal parts wracking his brain for comforting words and embarrassed at the thought of Max hearing his awful attempt. So he sits there, relishing in the feel of Eiji’s hand still holding tightly to his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And when he finally does speak, it’s in response to the worst, albeit reasonable, question Max could have asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eiji, where do you live?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash can feel his heart start racing, ready to defend him and argue they should stay together before halting. Eiji can make his own decisions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first small smile of his is sent straight to Ash’s heart. And he knows they’ll be okay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They kiss each other goodbye as parting lovers do, Ash promising to come see him as soon as he can before getting towed off against his will. He watches Eiji’s form grow smaller and smaller until they round a corner and he’s lost to lousy stop signs and lunch rush.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ash?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t like that tone of voice at all. Gulps. Steel himself. “Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What really happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing gets past a goddamn veteran. “I can’t tell you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash can see Max’s hands tighten on the wheel. “I’m not gonna ask again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t kill him!” Desperation. “I promise you, I did not kill him. Can that be enough? Please?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tension could probably be popped into oblivion with Yut-Lung’s hairpin, withering away into the smoke of New York City and the exhaust fumes. Ash didn’t do anything wrong. Ash has never done anything wrong. Please, can’t you see that, Max? Don’t be one of them. You were the exception, the one he could trust. The light at the end of a dark, deafening tunnel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>God is real—</span>
  </em>
  <span> “But you’re grounded.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Damn. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Leaning back, suddenly exhausted and ready to nap for days, no longer paranoid, no longer haunted, Ash placates, “I suppose I can deal with that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You suppose you can deal with that…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~ ~ ~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Griffin Callenreese is buried at ten on a sunny Saturday morning. Few people are in attendance. Ash. Max, Jessica, and Michael. Max’s friend Ibe Shunichi. Shorter, Nadia, and Charlie. Kong, Bones, and Alex. Eiji.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the distance, through moss-covered headstones and beneath a newly-flowered oak tree, stands Lee Yut-Lung. He sports traditional Chinese funeral garb. His pale, lean face betrays no emotion. Beside him stands Ash Lynx.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Our pasts share many similarities,” he begins, and it’s as if a heavy door, previously chained and barred and locked with rusted keys, finally opens with a sigh. “Forced to play a role we didn’t want. Witness to the most horrific and salacious of acts. Given no choice but to survive.” The sultry voice pauses, and slitted lids turn to look through Ash’s soul. “But then our paths diverged.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We are nothing alike.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, we are not. Not anymore. Life saved you, granted you escape.” Those dark eyes burn, sear, shred. “I despise you for it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A profound thought roots itself into Ash’s brain. That victims don’t always end up saved. Things cease, trauma recedes, life moves forward. It doesn’t mean they’re better off. Yut-Lung has isolated himself. Sharpened himself into daggers pointed in and out, toward and away. Untouchable in the worst of ways. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash hopes he finds peace, though he voices none of these thoughts aloud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you gonna do now?” he inquires instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They watch the congregation disperse, black on black trickling across the green and gray. Watch as one of those specks grows larger until Eiji sprouts from within, having found his boyfriend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be taking over the Lee family business.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sadness, the reluctance...Ash could reach out and grasp it between pale, softening hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Eiji reaches him, Yut-Lung has slithered away in silence and Ash only shakes his head in answer. Links their hands and leads them back to his family. Perhaps he can finally move forward with fewer regrets this time around.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter X: Epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I really finished this in less than two weeks</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The muse pillows himself on a bed of marigolds, outlined by a radiance of oranges and yellows striking against his pale skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The artist frames his shot, splays himself over his muse for the perfect angle, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>click!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Their eyes meet between the lens and they smile brilliant displays of white. The muse changes his pose, the artist races to capture it. Time is at a standstill just for them, just for this single moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kawaii!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The muse snorts, embarrassed for and embarrassed by the artist. Rolls his beads of jade and turns away with rosy cheeks. Startles at the gentle hand caressing those ripe apples.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean it, Aslan. You are too adorable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji holds sincerity inside himself, breathes it out with those words and into Ash like a revival. Settles himself on Ash’s hips, satisfied with the photoshoot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would like to use one of these in a portfolio if you do not mind,” he mentions shyly, maneuvering to place his camera back in its bag and lay down next to Ash. “I am not sure of the theme yet, but I like the flowers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re just hoping my looks will coax your professors into giving you better grades.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eiji pouts and Ash laughs and the universe is happy for them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They kiss lazily in the mid-afternoon sunlight, reveling in the warmth of it and each other, letting the love float around them like glittering crystals. One week is a long time to endure without seeing each other, but Eiji’s finals are completed and his attention is back where it’s supposed to be. Then Ash will graduate and the whole summer will be theirs to explore and traverse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ibe Shunichi, coincidentally Max’s old friend and the very photographer who captured Eiji’s former pole-vaulting days, gifted him with the newest of the new, the finest of the fine—an unknowing replacement for Eiji’s previous camera. Told him he wanted a new assistant and it simply couldn’t be anybody but him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With the firmest of pushes, Eiji gained a scholarship to NYU and enough money to comfortably support his family. In combined efforts with his sister, they eventually earned enough to admit their mother to a psychiatric hospital and visit her often. Lately, Eiji’s been renovating their home just because and only shrugs if asked for another reason.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash has gone back to therapy and that’s all there is to say at the moment, really. He supposes his life will truly begin once he gets over with graduation. Shorter won’t shut the fuck about it and Ash has been busting his ass trying to keep Kong and Bones from failing senior year. And Alex keeps worrying because he can’t pick a major after finding the money and support to even attend college.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash should probably be worrying about those kinds of things, too, but it seems far too monotonous compared to the last eighteen years of his life. Things will work out. If they did before, they can again. At last, he is content with that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One year and twenty-two days.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash looks over, his glasses digging into the side of his face, to Eiji. “Hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their hands, like magnets, connect and intertwine between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One year and twenty-two days since I last hurt myself,” he announces. His voice is soft, a whisper—in opposition to this kind of achievement and Ash strangely feels as if he should shout it from the rooftops instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He only smiles and replies, “I’m proud of you.” And because he can’t help himself. “But I’m one year and twenty-three days from the last time I wanted to kill myself, so I’ve got you beat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It earns him a faint slap to the chest. “That is not true! You do not keep count!” Eiji leans over conspiratorially. “But if it is, I am very sorry and I am also very proud of you, as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash laughs, leans over with orange spilling between fingers, and kisses Eiji lovingly, passionately. Trails his lips down pudgy cheeks, a delicate, sloping neck, and lifts up the hem of a stupid cartoon shirt despite fervent protests that they’re out in public to press just the slightest of pecks to tiny, crisscrossing scars. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lifts away to find shining, shimmering brown eyes adoring him with every ounce of their being. But then Eiji kisses his chest through the fabric of his turtleneck and Ash is left confused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am kissing your scars, too. The ones in your heart.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash really can’t help the tears that fall, but Eiji laughs and brushes them away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re okay. Not healed. Not recovered. Simply okay.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you to everyone who supported and liked and commented on this story, it all means so much to me!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Support my ko-fi if you enjoy my writing! https://ko-fi.com/bounteous</p></blockquote></div></div>
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